
Class •pAe's^o 
Book > Ha 

Copyright)^" 



CDEOtlGHT DEPOSIT. 






BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND 

BYWAYS 

FROM A MOTOR CAR 




OLD HALF-TIMBERKD HOUSES IN LEDBURY. 
From water color by B. McGuinness. 



Britisb Ridbways 

and Byways 
Trotn a motor 0ar 



BEING A RECORD OF A FIVE THOUSAND MILE 
TOUR IN ENGLAND, WALES AND SCOTLAND 



BY 

Cbo$. D* IHurpby 



With Sixteen Illustrations in Colour and Thirty-two Duogravures 
From Photographs; Also Two Descriptive Maps. 




BOSTON «c«cce««« 

£• e* Page $ Company 

««««««« MDCCCCVIII 




FEB 6 IdQQ 

|0!-ASS A XXC. !»*u, 

COPY B,- ° 



Copyright, 1908 
By L. C. Page & Company 

(INCORPORATED) 



All rights reserved 



A FOREWORD 



In this chronicle of a summer's motoring in Britain 
I have not attempted a guide-book in any sense, yet 
the maps, together with the comments on highways, 
towns and country, should be of some value even in 
that capacity. I hope, however, that the book, with 
its many illustrations and its record of visits to 
out-of-the-way places, may be acceptable to those who 
may desire to tour Britain by rail or cycle as well as 
by motor car. Nor may it be entirely uninteresting to 
tho£j who may not expect to visit the country in 
person but desire to learn more of it and its people. 
Although our journey did not follow the beaten 
paths of British touring, and while a motor car affords 
the most satisfactory means of reaching most of the 
places described, the great majority of thesejplaces 
are accessible by rail, supplemented in some cases by 
a walk or drive. A glance at the maps will indicate 
the large scope of country covered and the location of 
most places especially mentioned in the text. 

It was not a tour of cities by any means, but of the 
most delightful country in the world, with its towns, 



villages, historic spots and solitary ruins. Whatever 
the merits or demerits of the text, there can be no 
question concerning the pictures. The color-plates 
were reproduced from original paintings by prominent 
artists, some of the pictures having been exhibited in 
the London Royal Academy. The thirty-two duo- 
gravures represent the very height of attainment in 
that process, being reproductions of the most perfect 
English photographs obtainable. 

T. D. M. 

January, 1908. 



CONTENTS 



Page 

I A FEW GENERALITIES 1 

II IN AND ABOUT LONDON 11 

III A PILGRIMAGE TO CANTERBURY 26 

IV A RUN THROUGH THE MIDLANDS 40 

V THE BORDER TOWNS, SHREWSBURY AND 

LUDLOW 58 

VI LONDON TO LAND'S END 80 

VII FROM CORNWALL TO SOUTH WALES 100 

VIII THROUGH BEAUTIFUL WALES 115 

IX CHESTER TO THE "HIELANDS" 137 

X THROUGH HISTORIC SCOTLAND 156 

XI FROM EDINBURGH TO YORKSHIRE 173 

XII IN OLD YORKSHIRE 190 

XIII A ZIG-ZAG TRIP FROM YORK TO NORWICH 206 

XIV PETERBOROUGH, FOTHERINGAY, ETC 221 

XV THE CROMWELL COUNTRY, COLCHESTER.. 235 

XVI THE HAUNTS OF MILTON AND PENN 247 

XVII A CHAPTER OF DIVERS PLACES AND EX- 
PERIENCES 260 

XVIII IN SURREY AND SUSSEX 275 

XIX KNOLB HOUSE AND PENSHURST 290 

XX SOME MIGHT-HAVE-BEENS 299 

INDEX 311 

MAP OF ENGLAND AND WALES 310 

MAP OF SCOTLAND 318 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



COLOUR PLATES 

Page 

OLD HALF TIMBERED HOUSES IN LEDBURY 

Frontispiece 

OLD COTTAGE AT NORTON, NEAR EVESHAM 1 

HARVESTING IN HERTFORDSHIRE 16 

THE THREE SPIRES OF LICHFIELD 48 

SUNSET ON THE MOOR 56 

A COTTAGE IN HOLDENHURST, HAMPSHIRE 86 

ROCKS OFF CORNWALL 96 

NEAR LAND'S END 100 

ON DARTMOOR 104 

IN GLOUCESTERSHIRE 112 

ENTRANCE TO LOCH TYNE 144 

THE PATH BY THE LOCH 150 

IN THE SCOTTISH HIGHLANDS 160 

A SURREY LANDSCAPE 272 

A BIT OF OLD ENGLAND 300 

THE CALEDONIAN COAST 308 

DUOGRAVURES 

HADLEY CHURCH, MONKEN HADLEY 22 

DICKENS' HOME, GAD'S HILL, NEAR ROCHESTER. 30 



CATHEDRAL,, CANTERBURY 38 

RUINS OP URICONIUM, NEAR SHREWSBURY 64 

STOKESAY MANOR HOUSE, NEAR LUDLOW 6(5 

THE FEATHERS HOTEL, LUDLOW 68 

LUDLOW CASTLE, THE KEEP AND ENTRANCE ... 72 

A GLADE IN NEW FOREST 88 

ST. JOSEPH'S CHAPEL, GLASTONBURY ABBEY... 108 

DISTANT VIEW OF ROSS, SOUTH WELSH BORDER 114 

RUINS OF RAGLAN CASTLE, SOUTH WALES 120 

KILCHURN CASTLE, LOCH AWE 152 

TOWERS OP ELGIN CATHEDRAL, NORTH SCOTLAND 162 

DUNNOTTAR CASTLE, STONEHAVEN, NEAR ABER- 
DEEN 164 

TOWN HOUSE, DUNBAR, SCOTLAND 180 

BAMBOROUGH CASTLE, NORTHUMBERLAND 184 

OLD COTTAGE AT COCKINGTON 200 

SOMERSBY RECTORY, BIRTHPLACE OP TENNYSON 210 

SOMERSBY CHURCH 212 

ST. BOTOLPH'S CHURCH PROM THE RIVER, BOSTON 216 

A TYPICAL BYWAY 224 

JOHN WYCLIP'S CHURCH, LUTTERWORTH 232 

BYRON'S ELM IN CHURCH YARD, HARROW 246 

MILTON'S ROOM IN COTTAGE AT CHALPONT ST. 

GILES 250 

DISTANT VIEW OP MAGDALEN TOWER, OXFORD.. 256 

RINGWOOD CHURCH AND A THAMES RIVER ROAD 260 

WINDMILL NEAR ARUNDEL, SUSSEX 274 

ARUNDEL CASTLE 276 

PBVENSEY CASTLE, WHERE THE NORMANS 

LANDED , 280 

WINCHELSEA CHURCH AND ELM TREE 282 

ENTRANCE FRONT BODIAM CASTLE, SUSSEX 286 

PENSHURST PLACE, HOME OF THE SIDNEYS 292 




OLD COTTAGE AT NORTON, NEAR EVESHAM. 
From water color by G. F. Nicholls. 



British Highways and Byways 

From a Motor Car 

I 

A FEW GENERALITIES 

Stratford-on-Avon stands first on the itinerary of 
nearly every American who proposes to visit the his- 
toric shrines of Old England. Its associations vv^ith 
Britain's immortal bard and with our own gentle 
Geoffrey Crayon are not unfamiliar to the veriest 
layman, and no fewer than thirty thousand pilgrims, 
largely from America, visit the delightful old town 
each year. And who ever came away disappointed? 
Who, if impervious to the charm of the place, ever 
dared to own it? 

My first visit to Stratford-on-Avon was in the 
regulation fashion. Imprisoned in a dusty and com- 
fortless first-class apartment — first-class is an irony in 
England when applied to railroad travel, a mere ex- 
cuse for charging double — we shot around the 
curves, the glorious Warwickshire landscapes fleet- 
ing past in a haze or obscured at times by the drift- 
ing smoke. Our reveries were rudely interrupted by 

1 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

the shriek of an English locomotive — like an exag- 
gerated toy whistle — and, with a mere glimpse of 
town and river, we were brought sharply up to the 
unattractive station of Stratford-on-Avon. We were 
hustled by an officious porter into an omnibus, which 
rattled through the streets until we landed at the 
Sign of the Red Horse; and the manner of our de- 
parture was even the same. 

Just two years later, after an exhilarating drive 
of two or three hours over the broad, well-kept 
highway winding through the parklike fields, fresh 
from May showers, between Worcester and Strat- 
ford, our motor finally climbed a long hill, and there, 
stretched out before us, lay the valley of the Avon. 
Far away we caught the gleam of the immortal 
river, and rising from a group of splendid trees 
we beheld Trinity Church — almost unique in Eng- 
land for its graceful combination of massive tower 
and slender spire — the literary shrine of the English- 
speaking world, the enchanted spot where Shakes- 
peare sleeps. About it were clustered the clean, 
tiled roofs of the charming town, set like a gem in the 
Warwickshire landscape, famous as the most beau- 
tiful section of Old England. Our car slowed to a 
stop, and only the subdued hum of the motor broke 
the stillness as we saw Stratford-on-Avon from afar, 
conscious of a beauty and sentiment that made our 
former visit seem commonplace indeed. 

2 



A FEW GENERALITIES 

But I am not going to write of Stratford-on-Avon. 
Thousands have done this before me — some of them 
of immortal fame. I shall not attempt to describe or 
give details concerning a town that is probably vis- 
ited each year by more people than any other place 
of the size in the world. I am simply striving in a 
few words to give the different impressions made 
upon the same party who visited the town twice in 
a comparatively short period, the first time by rail- 
way train and the last by motor car. If I have any- 
thing to say of Stratford, it will come in due se- 
quence in my story. 

There are three ways in which a tourist may ob- 
tain a good idea of Britain during a summer's vaca- 
tion of three or four months. He may cover most 
places of interest after the old manner, by railway 
train. This will have to be supplemented by many 
and expensive carriage drives if he wishes to see the 
most beautiful country and many of the most inter- 
esting places. As Prof. Goldwin Smith says, "Rail- 
ways in England do not follow the lines of beauty 
in very many cases," and the opportunity afforded 
of really seeing England from a railway car window 
is poor indeed. The tourist must keep a constant 
eye on the time-tables, and in many of the more re- 
tired places he will have to spend a day when an 
hour would suffice quite as well could he get away. 
If he travels first-class, it is quite expensive, and the 

3 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

only advantage secured is that he generally has a 
compartment to himself, the difference in accommo- 
dations between first and third-class on the longer 
distance trains being insignificant. But if he travels 
third-class, he very often finds himself crowded into 
a small compartment with people in whom, to say 
the least, he has nothing in common. One seldom 
gets the real sentiment and beauty of a place in ap- 
proaching it by railway. I am speaking, of course, 
of the tourist who endeavors to crowd as much as 
he can into a comparatively short time. To the one 
who remains several days in a place, railroad trav- 
eling is less objectionable. My remarks concerning 
railroad travel in England are made merely from the 
point of comparison with a pleasure journey by 
motor, and having covered the greater part of the 
country in both ways, I am qualified to some extent 
to speak from experience. 

For a young man or party of young men who are 
traveling through Britain on a summer's vacation, 
the bicycle affords an excellent and expeditious 
method of getting over the country, and offers nearly 
all the advantages of the motor car, provided the 
rider is vigorous and expert enough to do the wheel- 
ing without fatigue. The motor cycle is still better 
from this point of view, and many thousands of them 
are in use on English roads, while cyclists may be 
counted by the tens of thousands. But the bicycle 

4 



A FEW GENERALITIES 

is out of the question for an extended tour by a 
party which includes ladies. The amount of im- 
pedimenta which must be carried along, and the 
many long hills which are encountered on the Eng- 
lish roads, will put the cycle out of the question in 
such cases. 

In a motor car, we have the most modern and 
thorough means of traversing the highways and by- 
ways of Britain in the limits of a single summer, and 
it is my purpose in this book, with little pre- 
tentions at literary style, to show how satisfactorily 
this may be done by a mere layman. To the man 
who drives his own car and who at the outstart 
knows very little about the English roads and towns, 
I wish to undertake to show how in a trip of five 
thousand miles, occupying about fifty 'days, actual 
traveling time, I covered much of the most beautiful 
country in England and Scotland and visited a large 
proportion of the most interesting and historic places 
in the Kingdom. I think it can be clearly demon- 
strated that this method of touring will give oppor- 
tunities for enjoyment and for gaining actual knowl- 
edge of the people and country that can hardly be 
attained in any other way. 

The motor car affords expeditious and reasonably 
sure means of getting over the country — always 
ready when you are ready, subservient to your whim 
to visit some inaccessible old ruin, flying over the 

5 

^ 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

broad main highways or winding more cautiously in 
the unfrequented country byways — and is, withal, 
a method of locomotion to which the English people 
have become tolerant if not positively friendly. 
Further, I am sure it will be welcome news to many 
that the expense of such a trip, under ordinary con- 
ditions, is not at all exorbitant or out of the reach of 
the average well-to-do citizen. 

Those who have traveled for long distances on 
American roads can have no conception whatever 
of the delights of motor traveling on the British high- 
ways. I think there are more bad roads in the aver- 
age county, taking the States throughout, than there 
are in all of the United Kingdom, and the number of 
defective bridges in any county outside of the im- 
mediate precincts of a few cities, would undoubted- 
ly be many times greater than in the whole of Great 
Britain. I am speaking, of course, of the more trav- 
eled highways and country byways. There are 
roads leading into the hilly sections that would not 
be practicable for motors at all, but, fortunately, 
these are the very roads over which no one would 
care to go. While the gradients are generally easier 
than in the States, there are in many places sharp 
hills where the car must be kept well under control. 
But the beauty of it is that in Britain one has the 
means of being thoroughly warned in advance of 
the road conditions which he must encounter. 



A FEW GENERALITIES 

The maps are perfect to the smallest detail and 
drawn to a large scale, showing the relative im- 
portance of all the roads; and upon them are plain- 
ly marked the hills that are styled as "dangerous." 
These maps were prepared for cyclists, and many 
of the hills seem insignificant to a powerful motor. 
However, the warning is none the less valuable, for 
often other conditions requiring caution prevail, such 
as a dangerous turn on a hill or a sharp descent into 
a village street. Then there is a set of books, four 
in number, published by an Edinburgh house and 
illustrated by profile maps, covering about thirty 
thousand miles of road in England and Scotland. 
They show the exact gradients and supply informa- 
tion in regard to the surface of the roads and their 
general characteristics. Besides this, the "objects of 
interest" scattered along any particular piece of road 
are given in brief — information at once so desirable 
and complete as to be a revelation to an American. 
There are sign-boards at nearly every crossing; only 
in some of the more retired districts did we find the 
crossroads unmarked. With such advantages as 
these, it is easily seen that a tour of Britain by a 
comparative stranger is not difficult; that a chauffeur 
or a guide posted on the roads is not at all neces- 
sary. The average tourist, with the exercise of ord- 
inary intelligence and a little patience, can get about 
any part of the country without difficulty. One of 

7 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

the greatest troubles we found was to strike the right 
road in leaving a town of considerable size, but this 
was overcome by the extreme willingness of any 
policeman or native to give complete information — 
often so much in detail as to be rather embarrassing. 
The hundreds of people from whom we sought as- 
sistance in regard to the roads were without ex- 
ception most cheerful and willing compliants, and in 
many places people who appeared to be substantial 
citizens volunteered information when they saw us 
stop at the town crossing to consult our maps. In 
getting about the country, little difficulty or con- 
fusion will be experienced. 

Generally speaking, the hotel accommodations in 
the provincial towns throughout England and Scot- 
land are surprisingly good. Of course there is a spice 
of adventure in stopping occasionally at one of the 
small wayside inns or at one of the old hostelries 
more famous for its associations than for comfort, but 
to one who demands first-class service and accom- 
modations, a little of this will go a long way. Gen- 
erally it can be so planned that towns with strictly 
good hotel accommodations can be reached for the 
night. Occasionally an unusually comfortable and 
well-ordered hotel will tempt the motorist to tarry a 
day or two and possibly to make excursions in the 
vicinity. Such hotels we found at Chester and 
York, for instance. The country hotel-keeper in 

8 



A FEW GENERALITIES 

Britain is just waking up to the importance of motor 
travel. Already most of the hotels were prepared 
to take care of this class of tourists, and in many 
others improvements were under way. It is safe to 
say that in the course of two or three years, at the 
farthest, there will be little to be desired in the di- 
rection of good accommodations in the better towns. 
Rates in these hotels are not low by any means — 
at least for the motorist. It is generally assumed 
that a man who is in possession of an automobile 
is able to pay his bills, and charges and fees are ex-^ 
acted in accordance with this idea. There is, of 
course, a wide variation in this particular, and tak- 
ing it right through, the rates at the best hotels would 
not be called exorbitant. The Motor Club of Great 
Britain and Ireland have many especially designated 
hotels where the members of this association are 
given a discount. These are not in every case the 
best in the town, and we generally found Baedeker's 
Hand Book the most reliable guide as to the relative 
merits of the hotels. It is a poorly appointed hotel 
that does not now have a garage of some sort, and 
in many cases, necessary supplies are available. 
Some even go so far as to charge the storage bat- 
teries, or "accumulators," as they are always called 
in Britain, and to afford facilities for the motorist to 
make repairs. 

It goes without saying that a motor tour should 
9 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

be planned in advance as carefully as possible. If one 
starts out in a haphazard way, it takes him a long 
time to find his bearings, and much valuable time 
is lost. Before crossing the water, it would be well 
to post up as thoroughly as possible on what one 
desires to see and to gain a general idea of the road 
maps. In another part of this book I have endea- 
vored to give a list of maps and books which I know 
will be of great assistance to anyone who contem- 
plates such a tour. Another valuable adjunct will 
be a letter from the American motor associations, 
with an introduction to the Secretary of the Motor 
Union of Great Britain and Ireland. Here can be 
secured much valuable information as to the main 
traveled routes; but after all, if the tourist is going 
to get the most out of his trip, he will have to come 
down to a careful study of the country and depend 
partly on the guide-books and his own knowledge 
of the historical and literary landmarks throughout 
the Kingdom. 



10 



II 

IN AND ABOUT LONDON 

London occurs to the average tourist as the cen- 
ter from which his travels in the Kingdom will radi- 
ate, and this idea, from many points of view, is 
logically correct. Around the city cluster innumer- 
able literary and historic associations, and the points 
of special interest lying within easy reach will out- 
number those in any section of similar extent in the 
entire country. If one purposes to make the tour by 
rail, London is pre-eminently the center from which 
to start and to which one will return at various times 
in his travels. All the principal railways lead to the 
metropolis. The number of trains arriving and de- 
parting each day greatly exceeds that of any other 
city in the world, and the longest through journey 
in the island may be compassed between sunrise and 
sunset. 

The motorist, however, finds a different problem 
confronting him in making London his center. I 
had in mind the plan of visiting the famous places 
of the city and suburbs with the aid of my car, but 
it was speedily abandoned when I found myself 
confronted by the actual conditions. One attempt 

11 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

at carrying out this plan settled the matter for me. 
The trip which I undertook would probably be one 
of the first to occur to almost anybody — the drive 
to Hampton Court Palace, about twelve or fifteen 
miles from the central part of the city. It looked 
easy to start about two or three o'clock, spend a 
couple of hours at Hampton Court and get back 
to our hotel by six. After trying out my car — 
which had reached London some time ahead of me 
— a few times in localities where traffic was not the 
heaviest, I essayed the trip without any further 
knowledge of the streets than I had gained from the 
maps. I was accompanied by a nervous friend from 
Iowa who confessed that he had been in an auto- 
mobile but once before. He had ridden with a 
relative through a retired section of his native state, 
traversed for the first time by an automobile, and 
he had quit trying to remember how many run- 
aways and smash-ups were caused by the fractious 
horses they met on the short journey. Visions of 
damage suits haunted him for months thereafter. 
In our meanderings through the London streets, 
the fears for the other fellow which had harassed 
him during his former experience, were speedily 
transferred to himself. To his excited imagination, 
we time and again escaped complete wreck and an- 
nihilation by a mere hair's breadth. The route which 
we had taken, I learned afterwards, was one of the 

12 



IN AND ABOUT LONDON 

worst for motoring in all London. The streets were 
narrow and crooked and were packed with traffic 
of all kinds. Tram cars often ran along the middle 
of the street, with barely room for a vehicle to pass 
on either side. The huge motor busses came tear- ^ 
ing towards us in a manner most trying to novices,"^" 
and it seemed, time after time, that the dexterity of : 
the drivers of these big machines was all that saved 
our car from being wrecked. We obtained only the 
merest glimpse of Hampton Palace, and the time 
which we had consumed made it apparent that if 
we expected to reach our hotel that night, we must 
immediately retrace our way through the wild con- 
fusion we had just passed. It began to rain, and 
added to the numerous other dangers that seemed 
to confront us was that of "skidding" on the slip- 
pery streets. When we finally reached our garage, 
I found that in covering less than twenty-five miles, 
we had consumed about four hours and we had 
been moving all the time. The nervous strain was 
a severe one and I forthwith abandoned any plan 
that I had of attempting to do London by motor 
car. With more knowledge and experience I would 
have done better, but a local motorist, thoroughly 
acquainted with London, told me that he wouldn't 
care to undertake the Hampton Court trip by the 
route which we had traveled. 

On Saturday afternoons and Sundays, the motor- 
13 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

ist may practically have freedom of the city. He 
will find the streets deserted everywhere. The 
heavy traffic has all ceased and the number of 
cabs and motor busses is only a fraction of what it 
would be on business days. He will even meet 
comparatively few motors in the city on Sunday, 
though the day be fine, such as would throng the 
streets of Chicago or New York with pleasure cars. 
The Englishman who goes for a drive is attracted 
from the city by the many fine roads which lead in 
every direction to pleasure resorts. One of the most 
popular runs with Londoners is the fifty miles to 
Brighton, directly southward, and the number of 
motors passing over this highway on fine Sundays is 
astonishing. I noted a report in the papers that on a 
certain Sunday afternoon no less than two hundred 
cars passed a police trap, and of these, thirty-five 
were summoned before the magistrates for breaking 
the speed laws. To the average American, this 
run to Brighton would not be at all attractive com- 
pared with many other roads leading out of Lon- 
don on which one would scarcely meet a motor car 
during the day and would be in no danger of the 
machinations of the police. Of course the places 
frequented by tourists are often closed on Sunday — 
or at least partially so, as in the case of Windsor 
Castle, where one is admitted to the grounds and 
chapel, but the state apartments, etc., are not shown. 

14 



IN AND ABOUT LONDON 

Even the churches are closed to Sunday visitors ex- 
cept during the regular services. 

Within a radius of thirty miles of London, and 
outside its immediate boundaries, there are numer- 
ous places well worth a visit, most of them open 
either daily or at stated times. A few of such 
places are Harrow on the Hill, with its famous 
school; Keston, with Holwood House, the home 
of William Pitt; Chigwell, the scene of Dickens' 
"Barnaby Rudge;" Waltham Abbey Church, 
founded in 1060; the home of Charles Darwin at 
Downe; Epping Forest; Hampton Court; Rye 
House at Broxborne; Hatfield House, the estate of 
the Marquis of Salisbury; Runnymead, where the 
Magna Charta was signed; St. Albans, with its an- 
cient cathedral church; Stoke Poges Church of 
Gray's "Elegy" fame; Windsor Castle; Knole 
House with its magnificent galleries; Penshurst 
Place, the home of the Sidneys; John Milton's 
cottage at Chalfont St. Giles; the ancient 
town of Guildford in Surrey; Gad's Hill, 
Dickens' home, near Rochester; the vicarage where 
Thackeray wrote "Vanity Fair" and the old church 
where his grandfather preached at Monken Had- 
ley; and Whitchurch, with Handel's original organ, 
is also near the last-named village. These are only 
a few of the places that no one should miss. The 
motor car affords an unequalled means of reaching 

15 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

these and other points in this vicinity; since many 
are at some distance from railway stations, to go by 
train would consume more time than the average 
tourist has at his disposal. While we visited all 
the places which I have just mentioned and many 
others close to London, we made only three or four 
short trips out of the city returning the same or the 
following day. We managed to reach the majority 
of such points by going and returning over differ- 
ent highways on our longer tours. In this way we 
avoided the difficulty we should have experienced 
in making many daily trips from London, since a 
large part of each day would have been consumed 
merely in getting in and out of the city. 

Our first trip into the country was made on the 
Sunday after our arrival. Although we started out 
at random, our route proved a fortunate one, and 
gave us every reason to believe that our tour of 
the Kingdom would be all we had anticipated. 
During the summer we had occasion to travel three 
times over this same route, and we are still of the 
opinion that there are few more delightful bits of 
road in England. We left London by the main 
highway, running for several miles through Epping 
Forest, which is really a great suburban park. It 
was a good day for cyclists, for the main road to 
the town of Epping was crowded with thousands 
of them. So great was the number and so com- 

16 



IN AND ABOUT LONDON 

pletely did they occupy the highway, that it was nec- 
essary to drive slowly and with the greatest care. 
Even then, we narrowly avoided a serious accident. 
One of the cyclists, evidently to show how dex- 
terous he was, undertook to cut around us by run- 
ning across the tramway tracks. These were wet 
and slippery, and his wheel shot from under the 
rider, pitching him headlong to the ground not two 
feet in front of our car, which was then going at a 
pretty good rate. If the cyclist did not exhibit dex- 
terity in managing his wheel, he certainly gave a 
wonderful display of agility in getting out of our 
way. He did not seem to touch the ground at all, 
and by turning two or three hand springs, he avoid- 
ed being run over by the narrowest margin. His 
wheel was considerably damaged and his impedi- 
menta scattered over the road. It was with rather 
a crestfallen air that he gathered up his belongings, 
and we went on, shuddering to think how close we 
had come to a serious accident at the very beginning 
of our pilgrimage. A policeman had paused and 
witnessed the incident, but he clearly placed the 
blame on the careless wheelman. 

Passing through the forest, we came to Epping, 
and from there into a stretch of open country that 
gave little suggestion of proximity to the world's 
metropolis. Several miles through a narrow but 
beautifully kept byway brought us to the village 

17 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

of Chipping-Ongar, a place of considerable antiqui- 
ty, and judging from the extensive site of its ancient 
castle, at one time of some military importance. 

At Ongar we began our return trip to London 
over the road which we agreed was the most beauti- 
ful leading out of the city, for the suburbs do not ex- 
tend far in this direction and one is comparatively 
soon in the country. The perfectly surfaced road, 
with only gentle slopes and curves, ran through the 
parklike fields, here over a picturesque stone bridge 
spanning a clear stream, there between rows of mag- 
nificent trees, occasionally dropping into quiet vil- 
lages, of which Chigwell was easily the most 
delightful. 

Chigwell became known to fame through the 
writings of Charles Dickens, who was greatly enam- 
ored of the place and who made it the scene of 
much of his story of "Barnaby Rudge." But 
Dickens, with his eye for the beautiful and with his 
marvelous intuition for interesting situations, was 
drawn to the village by its unusual charm. Few 
other places can boast of such endorsement as he 
gave in a letter to his friend, Forster, when he wrote : 
"Chigwell, my dear fellow, is the greatest place in 
the world. Name your day for going. Such a de- 
licious old inn facing the church; such a lovely ride; 
such glorious scenery; such an out-of-the-way rural 
place; such a sexton! I say again, name your day." 

18 



IN AND ABOUT LONDON 

After such a recommendation, one will surely desire 
to visit the place, and it is pleasant to know that the 
"delicious old inn" is still standing and that the 
village is as rural and as pretty as when Dickens 
wrote over sixty years since. 

The inn referred to, the King's Head, was the 
prototype of the Maypole in "Barnaby Rudge," and 
here we were delighted to stop for our belated 
luncheon. The inn fronts directly on the street and, 
like all English hostelries, its main rooms are given 
over to the bar, which at this time was crowded 
with Sunday loafers, the atmosphere reeking with 
tobacco smoke and the odor of liquors. The garden 
at the rear was bright with a profusion of spring 
flowers and sheltered with ornamental trees and 
vines. The garden side of the old house was cov- 
ered with a mantle of ivy, and, altogether, the sur- 
roundings were such as to make ample amends for 
the rather unprepossessing conditions within. One 
will not fully appreciate Chigwell and its inn unless 
he has read Dickens' story. You may still see the 
panelled room upstairs where Mr. Chester met 
Geoffry Haredale. This room has a splendid man- 
tel-piece, great carved open beams and beautiful 
leaded windows. The bar-room, no doubt, is still 
much the same as on the stormy night which Dickens 
chose for the opening of his story. Just across the 
the road from the inn is the church which also figures 

19 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

in the tale, and a dark avenue of ancient yew trees 
leads from the gateway to the door. One can eas- 
ily imagine the situation which Dickens describes 
when the old sexton crossed the street and rang the 
church bells on the night of the murder at Haredale 
Hall. 

When we invited friends whom we met in Lon- 
don to accompany us on a Sunday afternoon trip, 
we could think of no road more likely to please 
them than the one I have just been trying to de- 
scribe. We reversed our journey this time, going 
out of London on the way to Chigwell. Returning, 
we left the Epping road shortly after passing through 
that town, and followed a narrow, forest-bordered 
byway with a few steep hills until we came to 
Waltham Abbey, a small Essex market town with 
an important history. The stately abbey church, a 
portion of which is still standing and now used for 
services, was founded by the Saxon king, Harold, in 
1060. Six years later he was defeated and slain 
at Hastings by William the Conqueror, and tradi- 
tion has it that his mother buried his body a short 
distance to the east of Waltham Church. The 
abbey gate still stands as a massive archway at one 
end of the river bridge. Near the town is one of the 
many crosses erected by Edward I in memory of his 
wife, Eleanor of Castile, wherever her body rested 
on the way from Lincoln to Westminster. A little 

20 



IN AND ABOUT LONDON 

to the left of this cross, now a gateway to Theobald 
Park, stands Temple Bar, stone for stone intact as 
it was in the days when traitors' heads were raised 
above it in Fleet Street, although the original wood- 
en gates are missing. Waltham Abey is situated on 
the River Lea, near the point where King Alfred 
defeated the Danes in one of his battles. They had 
penetrated far up the river when King Alfred di- 
verted the waters from underneath their vessels and 
left them stranded in a wilderness of marsh and 
forest. 

Another pleasant afternoon trip was to Monken 
Hadley, twenty-five miles out on the Great North 
Road. Hadley Church is intimately associated with 
a number of distinguished literary men, chief among 
them Thackeray. His father was vicar for several 
years, and his grandfather preached there and is 
buried in the churchyard. The sexton was soon 
found and he was delighted to point out the inter- 
esting objects in the church and vicinity. 

The church stands at the entrance of a royal park, 
which is leased to private parties and is one of the 
quaintest and most picturesque of the country 
churches we had seen. Over the doors, some old- 
fashioned figures which we had to have translated 
indicated that the building had been erected in 1 494. 
It has a huge ivy-covered tower and its interior gives 

21 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

every evidence of the age-lasting solidity of the 
English churches. 

Hadley Church has a duplicate in the United 
States, one having been built in some New York 
town precisely like the older structure. We noticed 
that one of the stained-glass windows had been re- 
placed by a modern one, and were informed that 
the original had been presented to the newer church 
in America — a courtesy that an American congre- 
gation would hardly think of, and be still less likely 
to carry out. An odd silver communion service 
which had been in use from three to five hundred 
years was carefully taken out of a fire-proof safe 
and shown to us. 

Hadley Church is a delight from every point of 
view, and it is a pity that such lines of architecture 
are not oftener followed in America. Our churches 
as a rule are shoddy and inharmonious affairs com- 
pared with those in England. It is not always 
the matter of cost that makes them so, since more ar- 
tistic structures along the pleasing and substantial 
lines of architecture followed in Britain would in 
many cases cost no more than we pay for such 
churches as we now have. 

Near by stands the vicarage where Thackeray 
spent much of his time as a youth and where in later 
years he wrote the greater part of "Vanity Fair." 
We were assured that the originals of many of the 

22 



IN AND ABOUT LONDON 

characters in his books, such as Becky Sharp and 
Col. Newcome, were found among the villagers of 
Hadley. The house where the Thackerays lived 
still does duty as the vicarage, the small casement 
windows peeping out of a tangle of ivy that almost 
envelopes it. The room where "Vanity Fair" is 
said to have been written is on the second floor, and 
its windows open on the flower garden, whose gor- 
geous dashes of color effectively contrast with the 
heavy green foliage of the hedges and trees. Near 
at hand is the house where Anthony Trollope, the 
novelist, lived for many years, and his sister lies 
buried in the churchyard. 

A short distance from Hadley is the village of 
Edgeware, with Whitchurch, famous for its associ- 
ation with the musician Handel. He was organist 
for several years, and on the small pipe-organ, still 
in the church though not in use, composed his ora- 
torio, "Esther," and a less important work, "The 
Harmonious Blacksmith." The idea of the latter 
came from an odd character, the village blacksmith, 
who lived in Edgeware in Handel's day and who 
acquired some fame as a musician. His tombstone 
in the churchyard consists of an anvil and hammer. 
After Handel became more widely known, he was 
called from Whitchurch for larger fields of work. 
He is buried in Westminster Abbey. 

The road from Edgeware to the city is a good 
23 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

one, and being Saturday afternoon, it was nearly 
deserted. Saturday in London is quite as much of 
a holiday as Sunday, little business being transacted, 
especially in the afternoon. This prevails to a large 
extent all over the Kingdom, and rarely is any at- 
tempt made to do business on Saturday. The Week- 
End holiday, as it is called, is greatly prized, and is 
recognized by the railroads in granting excursions at 
greatly reduced rates. There is always a heavy ex- 
odus of people from the city to the surrounding 
resorts during the summer and autumn months on 
Saturday afternoon and Sunday. 

Owing to the extreme difficulty of getting out of 
the city, we made but few short excursions from 
London such as I have described. If one desires to 
visit such places in sequence, without going farther 
into the country, it would be best to stop for the 
night at the hotels in the better suburban towns, 
without attempting to return to London each day. 

The garage accommodations in London I found 
very good and the charges generally lower than in 
the United States. There is a decided tendency at 
grafting on the part of the employes, and if it is 
ascertained that a patron is a tourist — especially an 
American — he is quoted a higher rate at some estab- 
lishments and various exactions are attempted. At 
the first garage where I applied, a quotation made 
was withdrawn when it was learned that I was an 

24 



IN AND ABOUT LONDON 

American. The man said he would have to discuss 
the matter with his partner before making a final 
rate. I let him carry on his discussion indefinitely, 
for I went on my way and found another place 
where I secured accommodations at a very reason- 
able rate without giving information of any kind. 

With the miserable business methods in vogue at 
some of the garages, it seemed strange to me if any 
of the money paid to employes ever went to the 
business office at all. There was no system and little 
check on sales of supplies, and I heard a foreman 
of a large establishment declare that he had lost two 
guineas which a patron had paid him. "I can't 
afford to lose it," he said, "and it will have to come 
back indirectly if I can't get it directly," In no 
case should a motorist pay a bill at a London gar- 
age without a proper receipt. 



25 



Ill 

A PILGRIMAGE TO CANTERBURY 

No place within equal distance of London is of 
greater interest than Canterbury, and, indeed, there 
are very few cities in the entire Kingdom that can 
vie with the ancient cathedral town in historical im- 
portance and antiquity. It lies only sixty-five miles 
southeast of London, but allowing for the late start 
that one always makes from an English hotel, smd 
the points that will engage attention between the two 
cities, the day will be occupied by the trip. Espe- 
cially will this be true if, as in our case, fully two 
hours be spent in getting out of the city and reaching 
the highway south of the Thames, which follows 
the river to Canterbury. 

Leaving Russell Square about ten o'clock, I fol- 
lowed the jam down Holborn past the Bank and 
across London Bridge, crawling along at a snail's 
pace until we were well beyond the river. A worse 
route and a more trying one it would have been hard 
to select. With more experience, I should have run 
down the broad and little-congested Kingsway to 
Waterloo Bridge and directly on to Old Kent road 
in at least one-fourth the time which I consumed in 

26 



A PILGRIMAGE TO CANTERBURY 

my ignorance. However, if a novice drives his car 
in London, he can hardly avoid such experiences. 
Detailed directions given in advance cannot be re- 
membered and there is little opportunity to consult 
street signs and maps or even to question the police- 
man in the never-ending crush of the streets. How- 
ever, one gradually gains familiarity with the streets 
and landmarks, and by the time I was ready to leave 
London for America, I had just learned to get about 
the city with comparative ease. 

Old Kent road, which leads out of London 
towards Canterbury, is an ancient highway, and 
follows nearly, if not quite, the route pursued by 
the Canterbury pilgrims of the poet Chaucer. In the 
main it is unusually broad and well kept, but prog- 
ress will be slow at first, as the suburbs extend a 
long way in this direction, and for the first twenty- 
five miles one can hardly be said to be out of the 
city at any time. Ten miles out the road passes 
Greenwich, where the British observatory is located, 
and Woolwich, the seat of the great government 
arsenals and gun works is also near this point, lying 
directly by the river. 

Nearly midway between London and Rochester 
is the old town of Dartford, where we enjoyed the 
hospitality of the Bull Hotel for luncheon. A dingy, 
time-worn, rambling old hostelry it was, every odd 
corner filled with stuffed birds and beasts to an ex- 

27 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

tent that suggested a museum, and as if to still further 
carry out the museum feature, mine host had built 
in a small court near the entrance a large cage or 
bird-house which was literally alive with specimens 
of feathered songsters of all degrees. The space on 
the first floor not occupied by these curios was large- 
ly devoted to liquor selling, for there appeared to be 
at least three bars in the most accessible parts of the 
hotel. However, somewhat to the rear there was a 
comfortable coffee room, where our luncheon was 
neatly served. We had learned by this time that 
all well regulated hotels in the medium sized towns, 
and even in some of the larger cities — so large as 
Bristol, for instance — have two dining rooms, one, 
generally for tourists, called the "coffee room," with 
separate small tables, and a much larger room for 
"commercials," or traveling salesmen, where all are 
seated together at a single large table. The service 
is practically the same, but the ratio of charges is 
from two to three times higher in the coffee room. 
We found many old hotels in retired places where 
a coffee room had been hastily improvised, an inno- 
vation no doubt brought about largely by the motor 
car trade and the desire to give the motorist more 
aristocratic rates than those charged the well-posted 
commercials. Though we stopped in Dartford no 
longer than necessary for lunch and a slight repair 
to the car, it is a place of considerable interest. Its 

28 



A PILGRIMAGE TO CANTERBURY 

chief industry is a large paper-mill, a direct success- 
or to the first one established in England near the 
end of the Sixteenth Century, and Foolscap paper, 
standard throughout the English-speaking world, 
takes its name from the crest (a fool's cap) of the 
founder of the industry, whose tomb may still be 
seen in Dartford Church. 

A short run over a broad road bordered with 
beautiful rural scenery brought us into Rochester, 
whose cathedral spire and castle with its huge Nor- 
man tower loomed into view long before we came in- 
to the town itself. A few miles out of the town, our 
attention had been attracted by a place of unusual 
beauty near the roadside, a fine old house almost hid- 
den by high hedges and trees on one side and on 
the other by a tangled bit of wood and shrubbery, 
with several of the largest cedars we saw in England. 
So picturesque was the spot that we stopped for a 
photograph of the car and party, with the splendid 
trees for a background, but, as often happens in crit- 
ical cases, the kodak film only yielded a "fog" when 
finally developed. 

When we reached Rochester, a glance at the map 
showed us that we had unwittingly passed Gad's 
Hill, the home where Charles Dickens spent the 
last fifteen years of his life and where he died thirty- 
six years ago. We speedily retraced the last four 
or five miles of our journey and found ourselves 

29 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

again at the fine old place with the cedar trees where 
we had been but a short time before. We stopped 
to inquire at a roadside inn which, among the mul- 
titude of such places, we had hardly noticed before, 
and which bore the legend, "The Sir John Falstaff," 
a distinction earned by being the identical place 
where Shakespeare located some of the pranks of his 
ridiculous hero. The inn-keeper was well posted on 
the literary traditions of the locality. "Yes," said 
he, "this is Gad's Hill Place, where Dickens lived 
and where he died just thirty-six years ago today, 
on June 9th, 1870; but the house is shown only on 
Wednesdays of each week and the proprietor 
doesn't fancy being troubled on other days. But 
perhaps, since you are Americans and have come a 
long way, he may admit you on this special anniver- 
sary. Anyway, it will do no harm for you to try." 

Personally, I don't blame the proprietor for his 
disinclination to admit visitors on other than the reg- 
ular days, and it was impressed on me more than 
once during our trip that living in the home of some 
famous man carries quite a penalty, especially if the 
present owner happens to be a considerate gentle- 
man who dislikes to deprive visitors of a glimpse of 
the place. Such owners are often wealthy and the 
small fees which they fix for admittance are only 
required as evidence of good faith and usually devot- 
ed to charity. With a full appreciation of the situ- 

30 



A PILGRIMAGE TO CANTERBURY 

ation, it was not always easy to ask for the suspen- 
sion of a plainly stated rule, yet we did this in many 
instances before our tour was over and almost invar- 
iably with success. In the present case we were 
fortunate, for the gentleman who owned Gad's Hill 
was away and the neat maid who responded to the 
bell at the gateway seemed glad to show us the 
place, regardless of rules. It is a comfortable, old- 
fashioned house, built about 1775, and was much 
admired by Dickens as a boy when he lived with his 
parents in Rochester. His father used to bring him 
to look at the house and told him that if he grew up 
a clever man, he might possibly own it some time. 

We were first shown into the library, which is 
much the same as the great wfiter left it at his death, 
and the chair and desk which he used still stand in 
their accustomed places. The most curious feature 
of the library is the rows of dummy books that oc- 
cupy some of the shelves, and even the doors are 
lined with these sham leather backs glued to boards, 
a whim of Dickens carefully respected by the present 
owner. We were also accorded a view of the large 
dining room where Dickens was seized with the at- 
tack which resulted in his sudden and unexpected 
death. After a glimpse of other parts of the house 
and garden surrounding it, the maid conducted us 
through an underground passage leading beneath the 
road, to the plot of shrubbery which lay opposite the 

31 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

mansion. In this secluded thicket, Dickens had built 
a little house, to which in the summer time he was 
often accustomed to retire when writing. It was an 
ideal English June day, and everything about the 
place showed to the best possible advantage. We 
all agreed that Gad's Hill alone would be well 
worth a trip from London. The country around is 
surpassingly beautiful and it is said that Dickens 
liked nothing better than to show his friends about 
the vicinity. He thought the seven miles between 
Rochester and Maidstone the most charming walk 
in all England. He delighted in taking trips with 
his friends to the castles and cathedrals and he im- 
mensely enjoyed picnics and luncheons in the cherry 
orchards and gardens. 

A very interesting old city is Rochester, with its 
Eleventh Century cathedral and massive castle 
standing on the banks of the river. Little of the 
latter remains save the square tower of the Norman 
keep, one of the largest and most imposing we saw 
in England. The interior had been totally destroyed 
by fire hundreds of years ago, but the towering walls 
of enormous thickness still stand firm. Its antiquity 
is attested by the fact that it sustained a siege by 
King William Rufus, the son of the Conqueror. The 
cathedral is not one of the most impressive of the 
great churches. It was largely rebuilt in the 
Twelfth Century, the money being obtained from 

32 



A PILGRIMAGE TO CANTERBURY 

miracles wrought by the relics of St. William of 
Perth, a pilgrim who was murdered on his way to 
Canterbury and who lies buried in the cathedral. 
Rochester is the scene of many incidents of Dickens' 
stories. It was the scene of his last unfinished work, 
"Edwin Drood," and he made many allusions to it 
elsewhere, the most notable perhaps in "Pickwick 
Papers," where he makes the effervescent Mr. Jingle 
describe it thus: "Ah, line place, glorious pile, 
frowning walls, tottering arches, dark nooks, crumb- 
ling staircases — old cathedral, too, — ^earthy smell — 
pilgrims' feet worn away the old steps." 

Across the river from Rochester lies Chatham, a 
city of forty thousand people, and a famous naval 
and military station. The two cities are continu- 
ous and practically one. From here, without further 
stop, we followed the fine highway to Canterbury 
and entered the town by the west gate of Chaucer's 
Tales. This alone remains of the six gateways of 
the city wall in the poet's day, and the strong wall 
itself, with its twenty-one towers, has almost entirely 
disappeared. We followed a winding street bor- 
dered with quaint old buildings until we reached 
our hotel — in this case a modern and splendidly 
kept hostelry. The hotel was just completing an ex- 
tensive garage, but it was not ready for occupancy 
and I was directed to a well equipped private es- 
tablishment with every facility for the care and re- 

S3 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

pair of motors. The excellence of the service at this 
hotel attracted our attention and the head waiter 
told us that the owners had their own farm and sup- 
plied their own table — accounting in this way for 
the excellence and freshness of the milk, meat and 
vegetables. 

The long English summer evening still afforded 
time to look about the town after dinner. Passing 
down the main street after leaving the hotel, we 
found that the river and a canal wound their way 
in several places between the old buildings closely 
bordering on each side. The whole effect was de- 
lightful and so soft with sunset colors as to be 
suggestive of Venice. We noted that although 
Canterbury is exceedingly ancient, it is also a city 
of nearly thirty thousand population and the center 
of rich farming country, and, as at Chester, we 
found many evidences of prosperity and modern en- 
terprise freely interspersed with the quaint and time- 
worn landmarks. One thing which we noticed not 
only here but elsewhere in England was the con- 
summate architectural taste with which the modern 
business buildings were fitted in with the antique 
surroundings, harmonizing in style and color, and 
avoiding the discordant note that would come from 
a rectangular business block such as an American 
would have erected. Towns which have become 
known to fame and to the dollar-distributing tour- 

34 



A PILGRIMAGE TO CANTERBURY 

ists are now very slow to destroy or impair the old 
monuments and buildings that form their chief at- 
tractiveness, and the indifference that prevailed gen- 
erally fifty or a hundred years ago has entirely van- 
ished. We in America think we can afford to be 
iconoclastic, for our history is so recent and we have 
so little that commands reverence by age and associ- 
ation; yet five hundred years hence our successors 
will no doubt bitterly regret this spirit of their an- 
cestors, just as many ancient towns in Britain lament 
the folly of their forbears who converted the historic 
abbeys and castles into hovels and stone fences. 

Fortunately, the cathedral at Canterbury escaped 
such a fate, and as we viewed it in the fading light 
we received an impression of its grandeur and beauty 
that still keeps it pre-eminent after having visited 
every cathedral in the island. It is indeed worthy 
of its proud position in the English church and its 
unbroken line of traditions, lost in the mist of antiqui- 
ty. It is rightly the delight of the architect and the 
artist, but an adequate description of its magnificence 
has no place in this hurried record. Time has dealt 
gently with it and careful repair and restoration have 
arrested its decay. It stands today, though softened 
and stained by time, as proudly as it did when a 
monarch, bare-footed, walked through the roughly 
paved streets to do penance at the tomb of its 
martyred archbishop. It escaped lightly during the 

35 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

Reformation and civil war, though Becket's shrine 
was despoiled as savoring of idolotry and Crom- 
well's men desecrated its sanctity by stabling their 
horses in the great church. 

The next day being Sunday, we were privileged 
to attend services at the cathedral, an opportunity 
we were always glad to have at any of the cathedrals 
despite the monotony of the Church of England ser- 
vice, for the music of the superb organs, the mel- 
lowed light from the stained windows, and the asso- 
ciations of the place were far more to us than litany 
or sermon. The archbishop was present at the ser- 
vice in state that fitted his exalted place as Primate 
of all England and his rank, which, as actual head 
of the church, is next to the king, nominally head of 
the church as well as of the state. He did not preach 
the sermon but officiated in the ordination of several 
priests, a service full of solemn and picturesque in- 
terest. The archbishop was attired in his crimson 
robe of state, the long train of which was carried by 
young boys in white robes, and he proceeded to 
his throne with all the pomp and ceremony that so 
delights the soul of the Englishman. He was pre- 
ceded by several black-robed officials bearing the 
insignia of their offices on silver staffs, and when he 
took his throne, he was apparently closely absorbed 
in the sermon, which was preached by a Cambridge 
professor. 

36 



A PILGRIMAGE TO CANTERBURY 

We were later astonished to learn that the arch- 
bishop's salary amounts to $75,000 per year, or half 
as much more than that of the President of the 
United States, and we were still more surprised to 
hear that the heavy demands made on him in main- 
taining his state and keeping up his splendid episco- 
pal palaces are such that his income will not meet 
them. We were told that the same situation pre- 
vails everywhere with these high-church dignitaries, 
and that only recently the Bishop of London had 
published figures to show that he was $25,000 
poorer in the three years of his incumbency on an 
annual salary of $40,000 per year. It is not strange, 
therefore, that among these churchmen there exists 
a demand for a return to a simpler life. The Bishop 
of Norwich frankly acknowledged recently that he 
had never been able to live on his income of $22,- 
500 per year. He expressed his conviction that the 
wide-spread poverty of the bishops is caused by 
their being required to maintain "venerable but cost- 
ly palaces." He says that he and many of his fel- 
low-churchmen would much prefer to lead plain, 
unostentatious Christian lives, but they are not al- 
lowed to do it; that they would much prefer to de- 
vote a portion of their income to charity and other 
worthy purposes rather than to be compelled to 
spend it in useless pomp and ceremony. 

Aside from its cathedral, Canterbury teems with 

37 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

unique relics of the past, some antedating the Roman 
invasion of England. The place of the town in his- 
tory is an important one, and Dean Stanley in his 
"Memorials of Canterbury," claims that three great 
landings were made in Kent adjacent to the city, 
"that of Hengist and Horsa, which gave us our Eng- 
lish forefathers and character; that of Julius Caesar, 
which revealed to us the civilized world; and that of 
St. Augustine, which gave us our Latin Christian- 
ity." The tower of the cathedral dominates the 
whole city and the great church often overshadows 
everything else in interest to the visitor. But one 
could spend days in the old-world streets, contin- 
ually coming across fine half-timbered houses, with 
weather-beaten gables in subdued colors and rich an- 
tique oak carvings. There are few more pleasing 
bits of masonry in Britain than the great cathedral 
gateway at the foot of Mercery Lane, with its rich 
carving, weather-worn to a soft blur of gray and 
brown tones. Near Mercery Lane, too, are slight 
remains of the inn of Chaucer's Tales, "The Cheq- 
uers of Hope," and in Monastery Street stands the 
fine gateway of the once rich and powerful St. Aug- 
ustine's Abbey. Then there is the quaint little church 
of St. Martins, undoubtedly one of the oldest in 
England, and generally reputed to be the oldest. 
Here, in the year 600, St. Augustine preached be- 
fore the cathedral was built. Neither should St. 

38 



A PILGRIMAGE TO CANTERBURY 

John's hospital, with its fine, half-timbered gateway 
be forgotten; nor the old grammar school, founded 
in the Seventh Century. 

Our stay in the old town was all too short, but 
business reasons demanded our presence in London 
on Monday, so we left for that citv about two 
o'clock. We varied matters somewhat by taking a 
different return route, and we fully agreed that the 
road leading from Canterbury to London by way of 
Maidstone is one of the most delightful which we 
traversed in England. It led through fields fresh 
with June verdure, losing itself at times in great 
forests, where the branches of the trees formed an 
archway overhead. Near Maidstone we caught a 
glimpse of Leeds Castle, one of the finest country 
seats in Kent, the main portions of the building dat- 
ing from the Thirteenth Century. We had a splen- 
did view from the highway through an opening in 
the trees of the many-towered old house surrounded 
by a shimmering lake, and gazing on such a scene 
under the spell of an English June day, one might 
easily forget the present and fancy himself back in 
the time when knighthood was in flower, though the 
swirl of a motor rushing past us would have dispelled 
any such reverie had we been disposed to entertain 
it. We reached our London hotel at an early hour, 
and the unanimous sentiment of our party was that 
our pilgrimage to Canterbury could not very well 
have been omitted from our itinerary. 

39 



IV 

A RUN THROUGH THE MIDLANDS 

I had provided myself with letters of introduction 
from the American Automobile Association and 
Motor League, addressed to the secretary of the 
Motor Union of Great Britain and Ireland, and 
shortly after my arrival in London, I called upon that 
official at the club headquarters. After learning my 
plans, he referred me to Mr. Mooney, the touring 
secretary of the Union, whom I found a courteous 
gentleman, posted on almost every foot of road in 
Britain and well prepared to advise one how to get 
the most out of a tour. Ascertaining the time I pro- 
posed to spend and the general objects I had in view, 
he brought out road-maps of England and Scotland 
and with a blue pencil rapidly traced a route cov- 
ering about three thousand miles, which he suggest- 
ed as affording the best opportunity of seeing, in the 
time and distance proposed, many of the most his- 
toric and picturesque parts of Britain. 

In a general way, his route followed the coast 
from London to Land's End, through Wales north 
to Oban and Inverness, thence to Aberdeen and 
back to London along the eastern coast. He chose 

40 



A RUN THROUGH THE MIDLANDS 

the best roads with unerring knowledge and gener- 
ally avoided the larger cities. On the entire route 
which he outlined, we found only one really dan'- 
gerous grade — in Wales — and, by keeping away 
from cities, much time and nervous energy were 
saved. While we very frequently diverged from 
this route, it was none the less of inestimable value 
to us, and other information, maps, road-books, etc., 
which were supplied us by Mr. Mooney,, were 
equally indispensible. I learned that the touring de- 
partment of the Union not only affords this service 
for Great Britain, but has equal facilities for plan- 
ning tours in any part of Europe. In fact, it is able 
to take in hand the full details, such as providing for 
transportation of the car to some port across the 
Channel, arranging for necessary licenses and sup- 
plying maps and road information covering the dif- 
ferent countries of Europe which the tourist may 
wish to visit. This makes it very easy for a member 
of the Union — or anyone to whom it may extend 
its courtesies — to go direct from Britain for a conti- 
nental trip, leaving the tourist almost nothing to pro- 
vide for except the difficulties he would naturally 
meet in the languages of the different countries. 

When I showed a well posted English friend the 
route that had been planned, he pronounced very 
favorably upon it, but declared that by no means 
should we miss a run through the Midlands. He 

41 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

suggested that I join him in Manchester on business 
which we had in hand, allowing for an easy run of 
two days to that city by way of Coventry. On our 
return trip, we planned to visit many places not in- 
cluded in our main tour, among them the Welsh 
border towns, Shrewsbury and Ludlow, and to run 
again through Warwickshire, taking in Stratford and 
Warwick, on our return to London. This plan was 
adopted and we left London about noon, with Cov- 
entry, nearly one hundred miles away, as our ob- 
jective point. 

A motor car is a queer and capricious creature. 
Before we were entirely out of the crush of the city, 
the engine began to limp and shortly came to a stop. 
I spent an hour hunting the trouble, to the entertain- 
ment and edification of the crowd of loafers who al- 
ways congregate around a refractory car. I hardly 
know to this minute what ailed the thing, but it sud- 
denly started off blithely, and this was the only exhi- 
bition of sulkiness it gave, for it scarcely missed a 
stroke in our Midland trip of eight hundred miles — 
mostly in the rain. Nevertheless, the little circum- 
stance, just at the outset of our tour, was depressing. 

We stopped for lunch at the Red Lion in the old 
town of St. Albans, twenty miles to the north of 
London. It is a place of much historic interest, be- 
ing a direct descendant of the ancient Roman city 
of Verulamium ; and Saint Albans, or Albanus, who 

42 



A RUN THROUGH THE MIDLANDS 

gave his name to the town and cathedral and who 
was beheaded near this spot, was the first British 
martyr to Christianity of whom there is any record. 
The cathedral occupies the highest site of any in 
England, and the square Norman tower, which 
owes its red coloring to the Roman bricks used in 
construction, is a conspicuous object from the sur- 
rounding country. The nave is of remarkable length, 
being exceeded only by Winchester. Every style 
of architecture is represented, from early Norman to 
late Perpendicular, and there are even a few traces 
of Saxon work. The destruction of this cathedral 
was ordered by the pious Henry VIII at the time of 
his Reformation, but he considerately rescinded the 
order when the citizens of St. Albans raised money 
by public subscription to purchase the church. Only 
an hour was given to St. Albans, much less than we 
had planned, but our late start made it imperative 
that we move onward. 

Our route for the day was over the old coach 
road leading from London to Holyhead, one of the 
most perfect in the Kingdom, having been in exis- 
tence from the time of the Romans. In fact, no 
stretch of road of equal distance in our entire tour 
was superior to the one we followed from St. Albans 
to Coventry. It was nearly level, free from sharp 
turns, with perfect surface, and cared for with neat- 
ness such as we would find only in a millionaire's 

43 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

private grounds in the United States. Everywhere 
men w^ere at work repairing any slight depression, 
trimming the lawnlike grasses on each side to an ex- 
act line with the edges of the stone surface, and even 
sweeping the road in many places to rid it of dust 
and dirt. Here and there it ran for a considerable 
distance through beautiful avenues of fine elms and 
yews; the hawthorne hedges which bordered it al- 
most everywhere were trimmed with careful exact- 
ness; and yet amid all this precision there bloomed 
in many places the sweet English wild flowers — for- 
get-me-nots, violets, wild hyacinths and bluebells. 
The country itself was rather flat and the villages 
generally uninteresting. The road was literally 
bordered with wayside inns, or, more properly, ale 
houses, for they apparently did little but sell liquor, 
and their names were odd and fantastic in a high 
degree. We noted a few of them. The "Stump and 
Pie," the "Hare and Hounds," the "Plume of 
Feathers," the "Blue Ball Inn," the "Horse and 
Wagon," the "Horse and Jockey," the "Dog and 
Parson," the "Dusty Miller," the "Angel Hotel," 
the "Dun Cow Inn," the "Green Man," the 
"Adam and Eve," and the "Coach and Horses," 
are a few actual examples of the fearful and won- 
derful nomenclature of the roadside public houses. 
Hardly less numerous than these inns were the 
motor-supply depots along this road. There is prob- 

44 



A RUN THROUGH THE MIDLANDS 

ably no other road in England over which there is 
greater motor travel, and supplies of all kinds are to 
be had every mile or two. The careless motorist 
would not have far to walk should he neglect to keep 
up his supply of petrol — or motor spirit, as they call 
it everywhere in Britain. 

Long before we reached Coventry, we saw the 
famous "three spires" outlined against a rather 
threatening cloud, and just as we entered the crook- 
ed streets of the old town, the rain began to fall 
heavily. The King's Head Hotel was comfortable 
and up-to-date, and the large room given us, with 
its fire burning brightly in the open grate, was ac- 
ceptable indeed after the drive in the face of a sharp 
wind, which had chilled us through. And, by the 
way, there is little danger of being supplied with too 
many clothes and wraps when motoring in Britain. 
There were very few days during our entire sum- 
mer's tour when one could dispense with cloaks and 
overcoats. 

Coventry, with its odd buildings and narrow, 
crowded streets, reminded Nathaniel Hawthorne of 
Boston — not the old English Boston, but its big 
namesake in America. Many parts of the city are 
indeed quaint and ancient, the finest of the older 
buildings dating from about the year 1 400 ; but these 
form only a nucleus for the more modern city which 
has grown up around them. Coventry now has a 

45 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

population of about seventy-five thousand, and still 
maintains its old-time reputation as an important 
manufacturing center. Once it w^as famed for its 
silks, ribbons and watches, but this trade vv^as lost to 
the French and Sw^iss — some say for lack of a pro- 
tective tariff. Now cycles and motor cars are the 
principal products; and we saw several of the fam- 
ous Daimler cars, made here, being tested on the 
streets. 

Coventry has three fine old churches, whose tall, 
needlelike spires form a landmark from almost any 
point of view in Warwickshire, and give to the town 
the appellation by which it is often known — "The 
City of the Three Spires." Nor could we well have 
forgotten Coventry's unique legend, for high up on 
one of the gables of our hotel was a wooden figure 
said to represent Peeping Tom, who earned eternal 
ignominy by his curiosity when Lady Godiva re- 
sorted to her remarkable expedient to reduce the tax 
levy of Coventry. Our faith in the story, so beauti- 
fully re-told by Tennyson, will not be shaken by the 
iconoclastic assertion that the effigy is merely an old 
sign taken from an armourer's shop; that the legend 
of Lady Godiva is common to half a dozen towns; 
and that she certainly never had anything to do with 
Coventry, in any event. 

Leaving Coventry the next day about noon in a 
steady rain, we sought the most direct route to Man- 

46 



A RUN THROUGH THE MIDLANDS 

Chester, thereby missing Nuneaton, the birthplace 
and home for many years of George Eliot and the 
center of some of the most delightful country in War- 
wickshire. Had we been more familiar with the 
roads of this country, we could have passed through 
Nuneaton without loss of time. The distance was 
only a little greater and over main roads, whereas we 
traveled for a good portion of the day through nar- 
row byways, and the difficulty of keeping the right 
road in the continual rain considerably delayed our 
progress. We were agreeably surprised to find that 
the car did not slip or skid over the wet macadam 
road and that despite the rain we could run very 
comfortably and quite as fast as in fair weather. I 
had put up our cape top and curtains, but later on 
We learned that it was pleasanter, protected by wat- 
er-proof wraps, to dash through the rain in the open 
car. English spring showers are usually light, and 
it was rather exhilarating to be able to bid defiance 
to weather conditions that in most parts of the 
United States would have put a speedy end to our 
tour. 

A few miles farther brought us to Tamworth 
with its castle, lying on the border between War- 
wickshire and Staffordshire, the "tower and town" 
of Scott's "Marmion." The castle of the feudal 
baron chosen by Scott as the hero of his poem still 
stands in ruins, and was recently acquired by the 

47 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

town. It occupies a commanding position on a 
knoll and is surrounded by a group of fine trees. 

A dozen miles more over a splendid road brought 
us in view of the three spires of Lichfield Cathedral, 
one of the smallest though most beautiful of these 
great English churches. Built of red sandstone, 
rich with sculptures and of graceful and harmonious 
architecture, there are few cathedrals more pleasing. 
The town of Lichfield is a comparatively small place, 
but it has many literary and historical associations, 
being the birthplace of Dr. Samuel Johnson, whose 
house is still standing, and for many years the home 
of Maria Edgeworth. Here, too, once lived Major 
Andre, whose melancholy death in connection with 
the American Revolution will be recalled. The 
cathedral was fortified during the civil war and was 
sadly battered in sieges by Cromwell's Round- 
heads; but so completely has it been rebuilt and re- 
stored that it presents rather a new appearance as 
compared with many others. It occurred to us that 
the hour for luncheon was well past, and we stopped 
at the rambling old Swan Hotel, which was to all 
appearances deserted, for we wandered through 
narrow halls and around the office without finding 
anyone. I finally ascended two flights of stairs and 
found a chambermaid, who reluctantly undertook 
to locate someone in authority, which she at last did. 
We were shown into a clean, comfortable coffee 

48 



A RUN THROUGH THE MIDLANDS 

room, where tea, served in front of a glowing fire- 
place, was grateful indeed after our long ride through 
the cold rain. 

It became apparent that owing to our many de- 
lays, we could not easily reach Manchester, 
and we stopped at New Castle-under-Lyme for the 
night. This town has about 20,000 people and lies 
on the outer edge of the potteries district, where Jo- 
siah Wedgewood founded this great industry over 
one hundred years ago. The whole region com- 
prising Burslem, Hanley, New Castle, Stoke-on- 
Trent and many smaller places may be described 
as a huge, scattered city of about 300,000 inhabi- 
tants, nearly all directly or indirectly connected with 
the manufacture of various grades of china and earth- 
enware. The Castle Hotel, where we stopped, was 
a very old inn, yet it proved unexpectedly homelike 
and comfortable. Our little party was given a small 
private dining room with massive antique furniture, 
and we were served with an excellent dinner by an 
obsequious waiter in full-dress suit and with immac- 
ulate linen. He cleared the table and left us for the 
evening with the apartment as a sitting room, and 
a mahogany desk by the fireside, well supplied with 
stationery, afforded amends for neglected letters. In 
the morning, our breakfast was served in the same 
room, and the bill for entertainment seemed aston- 
ishingly low. Mine host will no doubt be wiser in 

49 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

this particular as motorists more and more invade the 
country. 

An hour's drive brought us to Manchester. The 
road by vv^hich vs^e entered the city took us direct to 
the Midland Hotel, which is reputed to be the finest 
in the Kingdom. Manchester is a city of nearly a 
million inhabitants, but its streets seemed almost like 
those of a country town as compared with the 
crowded thoroughfares of London. It is a great 
center for motoring and I found many of the garages 
so full that they could not take another car. I event- 
ually came to one of the largest, where by consid- 
erable shifting they managed to accommodate my 
car. But with all this rush of business, it seemed to 
me that the owners were in no danger of becoming 
plutocrats, for the charge for a day's garage, clean- 
ing the car, polishing the brass and making a slight 
repair, was five shillings. 

For half the way from Manchester to Leeds, the 
drive was about as trying as anything I found in 
England. The road was winding, exceedingly 
steep in places, and built up on both sides 
with houses — largely homes of miners and mill op- 
eratives. The pavement was of rough cobble-stones, 
and swarms of dogs and children crowded the way 
everywhere. Under such conditions, the numerous 
steep hills, narrow places and sharp turns in the road 
made progress slow indeed. It was evident that the 

50 



A RUN THROUGH THE MIDLANDS 

British motorists generally avoid this country, for we 
met no cars and our own attracted attention that 
showed it was not a common spectacle. However, 
the trip was none the less an interesting one as show- 
ing a bit of the country and a phase of English life 
not usually seen by tourists. 

There is little to detain one within the city of 
Leeds itself, but there are many places of interest 
in its immediate vicinity. There are few more pic- 
turesque spots in Yorkshire than Wharf dale, with 
its riotous little river and ruins of Bolton Abbey and 
Barden Tower. This lies about fifteen miles to the 
northwest, and while for special reasons we went to 
Ilkley Station by train, the trip is a fine motor drive 
over good roads. The park which contains the ab- 
bey and castle is the property of the Duke of Dev- 
onshire, who keeps it at all times open to the public. 
The River Wharfe, rippling over shingly rocks, 
leaping in waterfalls and compressed into the re- 
markable rapids called the Strid, only five or six 
feet wide but very deep and terribly swift, is the 
most striking feature of the park. The forest-clad 
cliffs on either side rise almost precipitously from the 
edges of the narrow dale, and from their summit, 
if the climb does not deter one, a splendid view pre- 
sents itself. The dale gradually opens into a beauti- 
ful valley and here the old abbey is charmingly sit- 
uated on the banks of the river. The ruins are not 

51 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

extensive, but the crumbling walls, bright with ivy 
and wall flowers, and with the soft green lawn be- 
neath, made a delightful picture in the mottled sun- 
shine and shadows of the English May day. 

On our return to Leeds, our friend who accom- 
panied us suggested that we spend the next day, 
Sunday, at Harrogate, fifteen miles to the north, one 
of the most famous of English watering places. It 
had been drizzling fitfully all day, but as we started 
on the short trip, it began to rain in earnest. After 
picking our way carefully until free from the slip- 
pery streets in Leeds, we found the fine macadam 
road little affected by the deluge. We were decid- 
edly ahead of the season at Harrogate, and there 
were but few people at the splendid hotel where we 
stopped. 

The following Sunday was as raw and nasty as 
English weather can be when it wants to, regard- 
less of the time of year, and I did not take the car 
out of the hotel garage. In the afternoon my friend 
and I walked to Knaresborough, one of the old 
Yorkshire towns about three miles distant. I had 
never even heard of the place before, and it was a 
thorough surprise to me to find it one of the most 
ancient and interesting towns in the Kingdom. Not 
a trace of modern improvement interfered with its 
old-world quaintness — it looked as if it had been 
clinging undisturbed to the sharply rising hillside for 

52 



A RUN THROUGH THE MIDLANDS 

centuries. Just before entering the town, we fol- 
lowed up the valley of the River Nidd to the so- 
called "dripping well," whose waters, heavily 
charged with limestone, drip from the cliffs above 
and "petrify" various objects in course of time by 
covering them with a stonelike surface. Then we 
painfully ascended the hill — not less than a forty-live 
per cent grade in motor parlance — and wandered 
through the streets — if such an assortment of narrow 
foot-paths, twisting around the corners, may be giv- 
en the courtesy of the name — until we came to the 
site of the castle. The guide-book gives the usual 
epitaph for ruined castles, "Dismantled by orders of 
Cromwell's Parliament," and so well was this done 
that only one of the original eleven great watch- 
towers remains, and a small portion of the Norman 
keep, beneath which are the elaborate vaulted apart- 
ments where Becket's murderers once hid. No 
doubt the great difficulty the Cromwellians had in 
taking the castle seemed a good reason to them for 
effectually destroying it. At one time it was in the 
possession of the notorious Piers Gaveston, and it 
was for a while the prison-house of King Henry II. 
There are many other points of interest in Knares- 
borough, not forgetting the cave from which Mother 
Shipton issued her famous prophecies, in which she 
missed it only by bringing the world to an end ahead 
of schedule time. But they deny in Knaresborough 

53 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

she ever made such a prediction, and prefer to rest 
her claims for infallibility on her prophecy illustrated 
on a post card by a highly colored motor car with 
the legend, 

"Carriages without horses shall go. 
And accidents fill the world with woe." 
Altogether, Knaresborough is a town little frequent- 
ed by Americans, but none the less worthy of a visit. 
Harrogate is an excellent center for this and many 
other places, if one is insistent on the very best and 
most stylish hotel accommodations that the island 
affords. Ripon, with its cathedral and Fountains 
Abbey, perhaps the finest ruin in Great Britain, is 
only a dozen miles away; but we visited these on 
our return to London from the north. 

On Monday the clouds cleared away and the 
whole country was gloriously bright and fresh after 
the heavy showers. We returned to Leeds over the 
road by which we came to Harrogate and which 
passes Haredale Hall, one of the finest country 
places in the Kingdom. A large portion of the way 
the road is bordered by fine forests, which form a 
great park around the mansion. We passed through 
Leeds to the southward, having no desire to return 
to Manchester over the road by which we came, or, 
in fact, to pass through the city at all. Our objective 
point for the evening was Chester, and this could 
be reached quite as easily by passing to the south of 

54 



A RUN THROUGH THE MIDLANDS 

Manchester. Wakefield, with its magnificent church, 
recently dignified as a cathedral, was the first town 
of consequence on our way, and about twenty-five 
miles south of Leeds we came to Barnsley, lying 
on the edge of the great moorlands in central Eng- 
land. There is hardly a town in the whole King- 
dom that does not have its peculiar tradition, and an 
English friend told us that the fame of Barnsley rests 
on the claim that no hotel in England can equal the 
mutton chops of the King's Head — a truly unique 
distinction in a land where the mutton chop is stand- 
ard and the best in the world. 

An English moor is a revelation to an American 
who has never crossed one and who may have a 
hazy notion of it from Tennyson's verse or "Lorna 
Doone." Imagine, set down in the midst of fertile 
fields and populous cities, a large tract of brown, 
desolate and broken land, almost devoid of vegeta- 
tion except gorse and heather, more comparable to 
the Arizona sagebrush country than anything else, 
and you have a fair idea of the "dreary, dreary 
moorland" of the poet. For twenty miles from 
Barnsley, our road ran through this great moor, and, 
except for two or three wretched-looking public 
houses — one of them painfully misnamed "The An- 
gel" — there was not a single town or habitation 
along the road. The moorland road began at Pen- 
iston, a desolate-looking little mining town straggling 

55 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

along a single street that dropped down a very sharp 
grade on leaving the town. Despite the lonely des- 
olation of the moor, the road was excellent, and fol- 
lowed the hills with gentle curves, generally avoid- 
ing steep grades. So far as I can recall, we did not 
meet a single vehicle of any kind in the twenty miles 
of moorland road — surely a paradise for the scorch- 
er. Coming out of the moor, we found ourselves 
within half a dozen miles of Manchester — practic- 
ally in its suburbs, for Stalybridge, Stockport, Alt- 
ringham and other large manufacturing towns are 
almost contiguous with the main city. The streets 
of these towns were crowded with traffic and street- 
car lines were numerous. There is nothing of the 
slightest interest to the tourist, and after a belated 
luncheon at a really modern hotel in Stockport, we 
set out on the last forty miles of our journey. After 
getting clear of Manchester and the surrounding 
towns, we came to the Chester road, one of the 
numberless "Watling Streets," which one finds all 
over England — a broad, finely kept highway, lead- 
ing through a delightful country. Northwich, famous 
for its salt mines, was the only town of any conse- 
quence until we reached Chester. We had travelled 
a distance of about one hundred and twenty miles — 
our longest day's journey, with one exception — not 
very swift motoring, but we found that an average 
of one hundred miles per day was quite enough to 

56 



A RUN THROUGH THE MIDLANDS 

thoroughly satisfy us, and even with such an appar- 
ently low average as this, a day's rest now and then 
did not come amiss. 

It would be better yet if one's time permitted a 
still lower daily mileage. Not the least delightful 
feature of the tour was the marvelous beauty of the 
English landscapes, and one would have a poor ap- 
preciation of these to dash along at forty or even 
twenty-five miles per hour. And there were many 
places at which we did not stop at all, and which 
were given scant space in the guide-books, that 
would undoubtedly have given us ideas of English 
life and closer contact with the real spirit of the peo- 
ple than one could possibly get in the tourist- 
thronged towns and villages. 






67 



V 

THE BORDER TOWNS, SHREWSBURY AND LUDLOW 

I shall say but little of Chester as of every other 
place on the line of our journey so well known as to 
be on the itinerary of nearly everybody who makes 
any pretensions at touring Britain. The volumes 
which have been written on the town and the many 
pages accorded it in the guide-books will be quite 
sufficient for all seekers after information. Frankly, 
I was somewhat disappointed with Chester. I had 
imagined its quaintness that of a genuine old country 
town and was not prepared for the modern city that 
surrounds its show-places. In the words of an ob- 
servant English writer: "It seems a trifle self-con- 
scious — its famous old rows carry a suspicion of be- 
ing swept and garnished for the dollar-distributing 
visitor from over the Atlantic, and of being less gen- 
uine than they really are. However that may be, 
the moment you are out of these show-streets of 
Chester, there is a singular lack of charm in the en- 
vironment. The taint of commerce and the smoke 
of the north hangs visibly on the horizon. Its im- 
mediate surroundings are modern and garish to a 
degree that by no means assists in the fiction that 

58 



THE BORDER TOWNS, SHREWSBURY AND LUDLOW 

Chester is the unadulterated old country town one 
would like to think it." Such a feeling I could 
not entirely rid myself of, and even in following the 
old wall, I could not help noting its carefully main- 
tained disrepair. I would not wish to be understood 
as intimating that Chester is not well worth a visit, 
and a visit of several days if one can spare the time; 
only that its charm was, to me, inferior to that of 
its more unpretentious neighbors, Shrewsbury and 
Ludlow. Our stay was only a short one, since our 
route was to bring us to the town again; still, we 
spent half a day in a most delightful manner, mak- 
ing a tour of the "rows" and the odd corners with 
quaint buildings. The tourist, fortified with his red- 
backed Baedecker, is a common sight to Chester 
people, and his "dollar-distributing" propensity, as 
described by the English writer I have quoted, is 
not unknown even to the smallest fry of the town. 
Few things during our trip amused me more than 
the antics of a brown, bare-foot, dirt-begrimed little 
mite not more than two or three years old, who 
seized my wife's skirts and hung on for dear life, 
pouring out earnestly and volubly her unintelligible 
jargon. We were at first at a loss to understand 
what our new associate desired, and so grimly did 
she hang on that it seemed as if another accession 
to our party was assured — but a light dawned sud- 
denly on us, and, as the brown little hand clasped a 

59 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

broad English copper, our self-appointed companion 
vanished like a flash into a neighboring shop. 

Even when touring in your "wind-shod" car, as 
an up-to-date English poet puts it, and though your 
motor waits you not a stone's throw from your ho- 
tel, you may not entirely dispense with your anti- 
quated equine friend as a means of locomotion. So 
we learned when we proposed to visit Eaton Hall, 
the country place of the Duke of Westminster, 
which lies closely adjoining Chester, situated deep 
in the recesses of its eight-thousand-acre park. A 
conspicuous sign, "Motors strictly forbidden," post- 
ed near the great gateway, forced us to have recourse 
to the hackman, whose moderate charge of eight 
shillings for a party of three was almost repaid by 
his services as a guide. He was voluble in his in- 
formation concerning the Duke and especially dwelt 
on his distinction as the richest man in the world — 
an honor which as good and loyal Americans we 
could not willingly see wrested from our own John 
D. of oleaginous fame. Eaton Hall is one of the 
greatest English show-places, but it is modern and 
might well be matched by the castles of several of 
our American aristocracy. Tame indeed seemed 
its swept and garnished newness, its trim and perfect 
repair, after our visits to so many time-worn places, 
with their long succession of hoary traditions. The 
great library, with its thousands of volumes in the 

60 



THE BORDER TOWNS, SHREWSBURY AND LUDLOW 

richest bindings, and its collections of rare editions 
might well be the despair of a bibliophile and the 
pictures and furnishings of rare interest to the con- 
noisseur — but these things one may find in the mu- 
seums. 

Over a main road, almost level and as nearly 
straight as any English road merits such a descrip- 
tion, we covered the forty miles from Chester to 
Shrewsbury without incident. The most trying 
grade given in the road-book is one in twenty-live, 
and all conditions are favorable for record time — 
in absence of police traps. Four miles out of Ches- 
ter we passed Rowton Station, lying adjacent to 
Rowton Moor, where King Charles, standing on 
the tower of Chester Wall which bears his name, 
saw his army defeated by the Parliamentarians. 
We made a late start from Chester, but reached 
Shrewsbury in time to visit many parts of the town 
after dinner. We found it indeed a delightful old 
place, rich in historic traditions, and the center of 
a country full of interesting places. The town is 
built on a lofty peninsula, surrounded on three sides 
by the River Severn, and the main streets lead up 
exceedingly steep hills. In fact, many of the steep- 
est and most dangerous grades which we found in 
our travels were in the towns themselves, where 
grades had been fixed by buildings long ago. The 
clean macadam in Shrewsbury made it possible to 

61 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

drive our car without chains, though it rained in- 
cessantly, but so steep and winding are some of the 
streets that the greatest caution was necessary. 

Shrewsbury is described by an English writer 
as a "sweet-aired, genuine, dignified and proud old 
market town, the resort of squires, parsons and farm- 
ers, and mainly inhabited by those who minister to 
their wants. It never dreams of itself as a show- 
place." He also adds another strong point in its 
claim to distinction: "Some years ago a book was 
published by a zealous antiquarian, enumerating 
with much detail all the families of England of a 
certain consequence who still occupied either the 
same estate or estates contiguous to those upon which 
they were living in the Fifteenth Century. The 
shire of which Shrewsbury is the capital very easily 
headed the list in this honorable competition and 
thereby justified the title of "proud Salopians," 
which the more consequential of its people submit 
to with much complacency, even though it be not 
always applied in a wholly serious way." 

It is a genuine old border town, so far unspoiled 
by commercialism. Modern improvements have not 
invaded its quaint streets to any great extent, and 
many of these still retain their odd old names — 
Dogpole, Wylecop and Shoplatch — and are bor- 
dered by some of the finest half-timbered houses in 
Britain. Nor is Shrewsbury wanting in famous 

62 



THE BORDER TOWNS, SHREWSBURY AND LUDLOW 

sons. In front of the old grammar school building 
is a bronze statue of Charles Darwin, the man who 
changed the thought of a world, who was born here 
in 1809. This same grammar school was built in 
1 630 and is now converted into a museum of Rom- 
an relics, which have been found in the immediate 
vicinity. In its earlier days, many distinguished men 
received their education here, among them Sir Phil- 
ip Sydney and Judge Jeffreys. The Elizabethan 
market-house and the council-house which was vis- 
ited by both Charles I and James II on different oc- 
casions are two of the most fascinating buildings to 
be seen in the town. There are scant remains, prin- 
cipally of the keep of the castle, built by the Norman 
baron to whom William the Conqueror generously 
presented the town. St. Mary is the oldest and 
most important church, and in some particulars it 
surpasses the cathedral at Chester. It is architec- 
turally more pleasing and its windows are among the 
finest examples of antique stained glass in the King- 
dom. 

We spent some time among the remarkable collec- 
tion of relics in the museum, and as they mainly came 
from the Roman city of Uriconium, we planned 
a side-trip to this place, together with Buildwas 
Abbey and the old Saxon town of Much Wenlock, 
all of which are within twenty miles of Shrewsbury. 
When we left the Raven Hotel it was raining stead- 

C3 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

ily, but this no longer deterred us, and after cautious- 
ly descending the steep hill leading out of the town 
we were soon on the road to Wroxeter, the village 
lying adjacent to the Roman ruins. We found these 
of surprising extent and could readily believe the 
statement made in the local guide-book that a great 
city was at one time located here. Only a com- 
paratively small portion has been excavated, but the 
city enclosed by the wall covered nearly one square 
mile. One great piece of wall about seventy-five 
feet long and twenty feet in height still stands above 
ground to mark the place, but the most remarkable 
revelations were found in the excavations. The 
foundations of a large public building have been 
uncovered, and the public baths to which the Rom- 
ans were so partial are in a remarkable state of 
preservation, the tile flooring in some cases remaining 
in its original position. There is every indication 
that the city was burned and plundered by the wild 
Welsh tribes sixteen hundred or more years ago. 

A few miles farther, mainly through narrow by- 
ways, brought us to Buildwas Abbey, beautifully 
situated near the Severn. Evidently this fine ruin 
is not much frequented by tourists, for we found 
no custodian in charge, and the haunts of the old 
monks had been converted into a sheepfold by a 
neighboring farmer. Yet at one time it was one 
of the richest and most extensive monasteries in 

64 



THE BORDER TOWNS, SHREWSBURY AND LUDLOW 

England. On our return to Shrewsbury, we passed 
through Much Wenlock, a very ancient town, 
which also has its ruined abbey. It is remarkable 
how thickly these monastic institutions were at one 
time scattered over the Kingdom, and when one 
considers what such elaborate establishments must 
have cost to build and to maintain, it is easy to 
understand why, in the ages of church supremacy, 
the rank and file of the people were so miserably 
poor. 

Our return to Shrewsbury was without incident 
except for the descent of a long, steep hill, which 
was the first we had traversed with the cycle club's 
warning, "dangerous," posted at the top. Our 
road-book spoke of it as one of the "worst hills" in 
this section and stated that innumerable accidents 
had occurred upon it. 

Aside from the places visited, the country through 
which we passed would have made our half day 
a memorable one. Though the continual rain in- 
tercepted the view much of the time, yet from some 
of the hilltops we had vistas of the Severn Valley 
with its winding river that we hardly saw surpassed 
in a country famous for lovely landscapes. We re- 
gretted later that our stay at Shrewsbury was so 
short, for we learned that in the immediate vicinity 
there were many other places which might well have 
occupied our attention; but in this case, as in many 

65 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

others, we learned afterwards the things we should 
have known before our tour began. 

Late in the afternoon we started for Ludlow. It 
was still raining — a gray day with fitful showers 
that never entirely ceased but only varied in intens- 
ity. Much of the beauty of the landscape was hid- 
den in the gray mist, and the distant Welsh hUls, rich 
with soft coloring on clear days, were entirely lost 
to us. Yet the gloomy day was not altogether with- 
out its compensation, for if we had visited Stokesay 
when the garish sunshine gilded "but to flaunt the 
ruins gray," we should have lost much of the im- 
pression which we retain of the gloom and desola- 
tion that so appropriately pervaded the unique old 
manor with its timbered gatehouse eind its odd little 
church surrounded by thickly set gravestones. 

It was only by an accidental glance at our road- 
book that we saw Stokesay Castle as an "object of 
interest" on this road about eight miles north of 
Ludlow. This old house is the finest example in the 
Kingdom of a fortified manor as distinguished from 
a castle, its defensive feature being a great crino- 
lated tower, evidently built as a later addition when 
the house passed from a well-to-do country gentle- 
man to a member of the nobility. This is actually 
the case, for there is on record a license granted in 
1284 to Lawrence de Ludlow permitting him to 
"crinolate his house." The house itself weis built 

66 



THE BORDER TOWNS, SHREWSBURY AND LUDLOW 

nearly two hundred years earlier and was later sur- 
rounded by a moat as a further means of defense. 
The house, considering its age, is in a wonderfully 
good state of preservation, the original roof still be- 
ing intact. We were admitted by the keeper, who 
lives in the dilapidated but delightfully picturesque 
half-timbered gatehouse. The gatekeeper's daughter 
acted as guide in showing us about the house, the 
most notable feature of which is the banqueting hall 
occupying the greater portion of the first floor, show- 
ing how, in the good old days, provision for hospi- 
tality took precedence over nearly everything else. 
Some of the apartments on the second floor retain 
much of their elaborate oak paneling and there are 
several fine mantel-pieces. A narrow, circular stair- 
way leads to the tower, from which the beauty of 
the location is at once apparent. Situated as the 
mansion is in a lovely valley, bounded by steep and 
richly wooded hills at whose base the river Onny 
flows through luxuriant meadows, one is compelled 
to admire the judgment of the ancient founder who 
selected the site. It indeed brought us near to the 
spirit and customs of feudal times as we wandered 
about in the gloom of the deserted apartments. How 
comfortless the house must have been — from our 
standard — even in its best days, with its rough stone 
floors and rude furnishings! No fireplace appeared 
in the banqueting hall, which must have been 
. 67 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

warmed by an open fire, perhaps in the center, as in 
the hall of Penshurst Place. How little these an- 
cient landmarks were appreciated until recently is 
shown by the fact that for many years Stokesay 
Manor was used as a blacksmith-shop and a stable 
for a neighboring farmer. The present noble propri- 
etor, however, keeps the place in excellent repair 
and always open to visitors. In one of the rooms of 
the tower a collection of ancient documents relating 
to the founding of Stokesay and to its early history 
is exhibited. 

After visiting hundreds of historic places during 
our summer's pilgrimage, the memory of Ludlow, 
with its quaint, unsullied, old-world air, its mag- 
nificent church, whose melodious chime of bells 
lingers with us yet, its great ruined castle, redolent 
with romance, and its surrounding country of un- 
matched interest and beauty, is still the pleasantest 
of all. I know that the town has been little visited 
by Americans, and that in Baedeker, that Holy 
Writ of tourists, it is accorded a scant paragraph 
in small type. Nevertheless, our deliberately formed 
opinion still is that if we could re-visit only one of 
the English towns it would be Ludlow. Mr. A. G. 
Bradley, in his delightful book, "In the March and 
Borderland of Wales," which everyone contemplat- 
ing a tour of Welsh border towns should read, gives 
an appreciation of Ludlow which I am glad to re- 

68 




THE FEATHERS HOTEL, LUDLOW. 



THE BORDER TOWNS, SHREWSBURY AND LUDLOW 

iterate when he styles it "the most beautiful and dis- 
tinguished country town in England." He says: 
"There are towns of its size perhaps as quaint and 
boasting as many ancient buildings, but they do not 
crown an eminence amid really striking scenery, nor 
yet again share such distinction of type with one of 
the finest mediaeval castles in England and one 
possessed of a military and political history unique 
in the annals of British castles. It is this combina- 
tion of natural and architectural charm, with its in- 
tense historical interest, that gives Ludlow such pe- 
culiar fascination. Other great border fortresses 
were centers of military activities from the Conquest 
to the Battle of Bosworth, but when Ludlow laid 
aside its armour and burst out into graceful Tudor 
architecture, it became in a sense the capital of four- 
teen counties, and remained so for nearly two hun- 
dred years." 

We were indeed fortunate in Ludlow, for every- 
thing conspired to give us the best appreciation of 
the town, and were it not for the opinion of such 
an authority as I have quoted, I might have con- 
cluded that our partiality was due to some extent to 
the circumstances. We had been directed to a hotel 
by our host in Shrewsbury, but on inquiring of a 
police officer — they are everywhere in Britain — on 
our arrival in Ludlow, he did us a great favor by 
telling us that "The Feathers" hotel just opposite 

69 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

would please us better. We forthwith drew up in 
front of the finest old black and white building which 
we saw anywhere and were given a room whose 
diamond-paned windows opened toward church and 
castle. No modem improvement broke in on our 
old-time surroundings — candles lighted us when the 
long twilight faded away. 

The splendid dark-oak paneling that reached to 
the high ceiling of the dining room and the richly 
carved mantel-piece, they told us, were once in 
rooms of Ludlow Castle. As we sat at our late din- 
ner, a familiar melody from the sonorous chimes of 
the church-tower came through the open window to 
our great delight. "O, what a nuisance those bells 
are," said the neat waiting maid, "and a bad thing 
for the town, too. Why, the commercials all keep 
away from Ludlow. They Ccm*t sleep for the noise." 
"Do the chimes ring in the night?" we asked. "At 
midnight and at four o'clock in the morning," she 
said, and I was fearful that we would not awake. 
But we did, and the melody in the silence of the 
night, amid the surroundings of the quaint old town, 
awakened a sentiment in us no doubt quite different 
from that which vexed the soul of the commercial. 
But we felt that credit was due the honest people of 
Ludlow, who preferred the music of the sweet-toned 
bells to sordid business; and, as the maid said, the 
bells did not awaken anyone who was used to them 

70 



THE BORDER TOWNS, SHREWSBURY AND LUDLOW 

— surely a fit reward to the citizens for their high- 
minded disregard of mere material interests. 

I said we were fortunate at Ludlow. The gray, 
chilly weather and almost continual rain which had 
followed us for the last few days vanished and the 
next morning dawned cool and fair, with sky of un- 
tainted blue. Our steps were first turned toward the 
castle, which we soon reached. There was no one 
to admit us. The custodian's booth was closed, 
but there was a small gate in the great entrance and 
we walked in. We had the noble ruin to ourselves, 
and a place richer in story and more beautiful and 
majestic in decay we did not find elsewhere. A 
maze of gray walls arose all around us, but fortunate- 
ly every part of the ruin bore a printed card telling 
us just what we wanted to know. Crumbling walls 
surrounded a beautiful lawn, starred with wild 
flowers — ^buttercups and forget-me-nots — and a 
flock of sheep grazed peacefully in the wide en- 
closure. We wandered through the deserted, roof- 
less chambers where fire places with elaborate stone 
mantels and odd bits of carving told of the pristine 
glory of the place. The castle was of great extent, 
covering the highest point in Ludlow, and before the 
day of artillery must have been well-nigh impreg- 
nable. The walls on the side toward the river rise 
from a precipitous cliff which drops to the edge of 
the water almost as sheer as the walls themselves. 

71 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

The stern square tower of the keep, the odd cir- 
cular chapel with its fine Norman entrance, the great 
banqueting hall, the elaborate stone fire places and 
the various apartments celebrated in the story of the 
castle interested us most. From the great tower I 
saw what I still consider the finest prospect in Eng- 
land, and I had many beautiful views from similar 
points of vantage. The day was perfectly clear and 
the wide range of vision covered the fertile valleys 
cind wooded hills interspersed with the villages, the 
whole country appearing like a vast beautifully 
kept park. The story of Ludlow castle is too long 
to tell here, but no one who delights in the romance 
of the days of chivalry should fail to familiarize him- 
self with it. The castle was once a royal residence 
and the two princes murdered in the London Tower 
by the agents of Richard III dwelt here for many 
years. In 1635 Milton's "Mask of Comus," 
suggested by the youthful adventures of the children 
of the Lord President, was performed in the castle 
courtyard. The Lord of the Castle at one time was 
Henry Sidney, father of Sir Philip, and his coat-of- 
arms still remains over one of the entrances. But 
the story of love and treason, how Maid Marion ad- 
mitted to the castle in the absence of its owner her 
clandestine lover, who brought a hundred armed 
men at his back to slay the inmates and capture the 
fortress, is the saddest and most dramatic of all. We 

72 



THE BORDER TOWNS, SHREWSBURY AND LUDLOW 

saw high up in the wall, frowning over the river, the 
window of her chamber, from which she had thrown 
herself after slaying her recreant lover in her rage 
and despair. A weird story it is, but if the luckless 
maiden still haunts the scene of her blighted love, an 
observant sojourner who fitly writes of Ludlow in 
poetic phrase never saw her. "Nearly every mid- 
night for a month," he says, "it fell to me to traverse 
the quarter of a mile of dark, lonely lane that leads 
beneath the walls of the castle to the falls of the 
river, and a spot more calculated to invite the wan- 
derings of a despairing and guilty spirit, I never saw. 
But though the savage gray towers far above shone 
betimes in the moonlight and the tall trees below 
rustled weirdly in the night breeze and the rush of 
the river over the weir rose and fell as is the wont 
of falling water in the silence of the night, I looked 
in vain for the wraith of the hapless maiden of the 
heath and finally gave up the quest." 

When we left the castle, though nearly noon, the 
custodian was still belated, and we yet owe him 
sixpence for admittance, which we hope to pay some 
time in person. A short walk brought us to the 
church — "the finest parish church in England," de- 
clares one well qualified to judge. "Next to the 
castle," he says, "the glory of Ludlow is its church, 
which has not only the advantage of a commanding 
site but, as already mentioned, is held to be one of 

73 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

the finest in the country." It is built of red SEUidstone 
and is cruciform in shape, with a lofty and grace- 
ful tower, which is a landmark over miles of country 
and beautiful from any point of view. I have al- 
ready mentioned the chime of bells which flings its 
melodies every few hours over the town and which 
are hung in this tower. The monuments, the stained- 
glass windows and the imposing architecture are 
scarcely equalled by any other church outside of 
the cathedrals. 

We had made the most of our stay in Ludlow, but 
it was all too short. The old town was a revelation 
to us, as it would be to thousands of our countrymen 
who never think of including it in their itinerary. 
But for the motor car, it would have remained un- 
discovered to us. With the great growth of this 
method of touring, doubtless thousands of others 
will visit the place in the same manner, and be no 
less pleased than we were. 

From Ludlow we had a fine run to Worcester, 
though the road was sprinkled with short, steep hills 
noted "dangerous" in the road-book. Our fine 
weather was very transient, for it was raining again 
when we reached Worcester. We first directed our 
steps to the cathedral, but when nearly there beheld 
a large sign, "This way to the Royal Porcelain 
Works," and the cathedral was forgotten for the 
time by at least one member of our party. The 

74 



THE BORDER TOWNS, SHREWSBURY AND LUDLOW 

Royal Porcelain Works it was, then, for hadn't we 
known of Royal Worcester long before we knew 
there was any cathedral — or any town, for that 
matter? It is easy to get to the Royal Porcelain 
Works: a huge sign every block will keep you from 
going astray and an intelligent guide will show you 
every detail of the great establishment for only a 
sixpence. But it is much harder and more costly to 
get away from the Royal Worcester Works, and 
when we finally did we were several guineas poorer 
and were loaded with a box of fragile vs^are to ex- 
cite the suspicions of our amiable customs officials. 
Nevertheless, the visit was full of interest. Our 
guide took us through the great plant from the very 
beginning, showing us the raw materials — clay, 
chalk and bones — which are ground to a fine pow- 
der, mixed to a paste, and deftly turned into a thous- 
and shapes by the skilled potter. We were shown 
how the bowl or vase was burned, shrinking to near- 
ly half its size in the process. We followed the var- 
ious steps of manufacture until the finished ware, 
hand-painted and burned many times to bring out 
the colors, was ready for shipment. An extensive 
museum is connected with the works and filled with 
rare specimens to delight the soul of the admirer 
of the keramic art. There were samples of the 
notable sets of tableware manufactured for nearly 
every one of the crowoied heads of Europe during 

75 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

the last century, gorgeous vases of fabulous value, 
and rare and curious pieces w^ithout number. 

When we left the porcelain works it was too late 
to get into the cathedral, and when we were ready 
to start in the morning it was too early. So we con- 
tented ourselves with driving the car around the 
noble pile and viewing the exterior from every angle. 
We took the word of honest Baedeker that the in- 
terior is one of the most elaborate cind artistic in Eng- 
land but largely the result of modern restoration. 
The cathedral contains the tomb of King John, who 
requested that he be buried here, though his life 
was certainly not such as to merit the distinction. 
Here, too, is buried the elder brother of King Henry 
VIII, Prince Arthur, who died at Ludlow Castle in 
1502; and had he lived to be king in place of the 
strenuous Henry, who can say what changes might 
have been recorded in English history? All these 
we missed; nor did we satisfy ourselves personally 
of the correctness of the claim that the original entry 
of the marriage contract of William Shakespeare and 
Anne Hathaway is on file in the diocese office near 
the gateway of the cathedral. Along with the other 
notable places of the tovv^n mentioned in the guide- 
book, is the great factory where the fiery Worcester- 
shire sauce is concocted, but this did not appeal to 
our imagination as did the porcelain works. 

Our early start and the fine, nearly level road 
76 



THE BORDER TOWNS, SHREWSBURY AND LUDLOW 

brought us to Stratford-upon-Avon well before 
noon. Here we did little more than re-visit the 
shrines of Shakespeare — the church, the birthplace, 
the grammar school — all familiar to the English- 
speaking world. Nor did we forget the Red Horse 
Inn at luncheon time, finding it much less crowded 
than on our previous visit, for we were still well in 
advance of the tourist season. After luncheon we 
were lured into a shop across the street by the broad 
assurance made on an exceedingly conspicuous sign 
that it is the "largest souvenir store on earth." Here 
we hoped to secure a few mementos of our visit to 
Stratford by motor car. We fell into a conversation 
with the proprietor, a genial, white-haired old gen- 
tleman, who, we learned, had been Mayor of the 
town for many years — and is it not a rare distinction 
to be Mayor of Shakespeare's Stratford? The old 
gentleman bore his honors lightly indeed, for he said 
he had insistently declined the office but the people 
wouldn't take no for an answer. 

It is only a few miles to Warwick over winding 
roads as beautiful as any in England. One of these 
leads past Charlecote, famous for Shakespeare's 
deer-stealing episode, but no longer open to the pub- 
lic. We passed through Warwick — which remind- 
ed us of Ludlow except for the former's magnificent 
situation — without pausing, a thing which no one 
would do who had not visited that quaint old town 

77 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

some time before. In Leamington, three miles farther 
on, we found a modern city of forty thousemd inhab- 
itants, noted as a resort and full of pretentious hotels. 
After we were located at the Manor House there 
was still time for a drive to Kenilworth Castle, five 
miles away, to which a second visit was even more 
delightful than our previous one. For the next day 
we had planned a circular tour of Warwickshire, 
but a driving, all-day rain and, still more, the indis- 
position of one of our party, confined us to our hotel. 
Our disappointment was considerable, for within 
easy reach of Leamington there were many places 
which we had planned to visit. Ashow Church, 
Stoneleigh Abbey, George Eliot's birthplace and 
home near Nuneaton, the cottage of Mary Arden, 
mother of Shakespeare, Rugby, with its famous 
school, and Maxstoke Castle — an extensive and pic- 
turesque ruin — are all within a few miles of Leam- 
ington. 

From Leamington to London was nearly an all- 
day's run, although the distance is only one hundred 
miles. A repair to the car delayed us and we went 
several miles astray on the road. It would have 
been much easier to return over the Holyhead 
Road, but our desire to see more of the country led 
us to take a route nearly parallel to this, averaging 
about fifteen miles to the southward. Much of the 
way this ran through narrow byways and the coim- 

78 



THE BORDER TOWNS, SHREWSBURY AND LUDLOW 

try generally lacked interest. We passed through 
Banbury, whose cross, famous in nursery rhyme, is 
only modern. At Waddesdon we saw the most up- 
to-date and best ordered village we came across in 
England, with a fine new hotel, the Five Arrows, 
glittering in fresh paint. We learned that this village 
was built and practically owned by Baron Roths- 
child, and just adjoining it was the estate which he 
had laid out. The gentleman of whom we inquired 
courteously offered to take us into the great park, 
and we learned that he was the head landscape gar- 
dener. The palace is modem, of Gothic architec- 
ture, and crowns an eminence in the park. It is now 
owned by the Baron's sister, a spinster of some sixty 
years and, we were told, of very peculiar ideas. The 
house contains a picture gallery, which is open to the 
public on stated days of the week. 

On reaching London again, we found that our 
tour of the Midlands had covered a little less than 
eight hundred miles, which shows how much that 
distance means in Britain when measured in places 
of historic and literary importance, of which we 
really visited only a few of those directly on the 
route of our journey or lying easily adjacent to it. 



79 



VI 

LONDON TO LAND'S END 

The road from London to Southampton is one 
of the oldest in the Kingdom and passes many places 
of historic interest. In early days this highway, lead- 
ing from one of the main seaports through the an- 
cient Saxon capital, was of great importance. Over 
this road we began the trip suggested by the Tour- 
ing Secretary of the Motor Union. As usual, we 
were late in getting started and it was well after 
noon when we were clear of the city. At Kings- 
ton-on-Thames, practically a suburb, filled v^^ith 
villas of wealthy Londoners, we stopped for lunch 
at the Griffin Hotel, a fine old inn whose antiquity 
was not considered sufficient to atone for bad ser- 
vice, which was sometimes the case. Kingston has 
a history as ancient as that of the capital itself. Its 
name is peculiar in that it was not derived from 
King's Town, but from King's Stone; and at the 
town crossing is the identical stone, so says tradition, 
upon which the Saxon kings were crowned. 

After a short run from Kingston, we passed down 
High Street, Guildford, which, a well qualified 
authority declares, is "one of the most picturesque 

80 



LONDON TO LAND'S END 

streets in England." Guildford might well detain 
for a day or more anyone whose time will permit 
him to travel more leisurely than ours did. William 
Cobbett, the author and philosopher, who was born 
and lived many years near by, declared it "the hap- 
piest looking town he ever knew" — just why, I do 
not know. The street with the huge town clock 
projecting half way across on one side, the Seven- 
teenth Century Town Hall with its massive Greek 
portico on the other, and a queerly assorted row of 
many-gabled buildings following its winding way, 
looked odd enough, but as to Guildford's happiness, 
a closer acquaintance would be necessary. 

Shortly after leaving the town, the ascent of a 
two-mile hill brought us to a stretch of upland road 
which ran for several miles along a tableland lying 
between pleasantly diversified valleys sloping on 
either side. From this a long, gradual descent led 
directly into Farnham, the native town of William 
Cobbett. The house where he was born and lived 
as a boy is still standing as "The Jolly Farmers' 
Inn." One may see the little house which was the 
birthplace of the Rev. Augustus Toplady, whose 
hymn, "Rock of Ages," has gained world-wide 
fame. On the hill overlooking the town is the an- 
cient castle, rebuilt in the Sixteenth Century and 
from that time one of the palaces of the bishops of 
Winchester. Here, too, lingers one of the ubiquit- 

81 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

ous traditions of King Charles I, who stopped at 
Vernon House in West Street while a prisoner in 
the hcinds of the Parliamentarians on their way to 
London. A silk cap which the king presented to his 
host is proudly shown by one of the latter's de- 
scendants, who is now owner of the house. 

One must be well posted on his route when tour- 
ing Britain or he will pass many things of note in 
sublime ignorance of their existence. Even the road- 
book is not an infallible guide, for we first knew that 
we were passing through Chawton when the post- 
office sign, on the main street of a straggling village, 
arrested our attention. We were thus reminded that 
in this quiet little place the inimitable Jane Austen 
had lived and produced her most notable novels, 
which are far more appreciated now thein in the life- 
time of the authoress. An old woman of whom we 
inquired pointed out the house — a large, square 
building with tiled roof, now used as the home of 
a workingmen's club. Less than two miles from 
Chawton, though not on the Winchester road, is 
Selborne, the home of Gilbert White, the naturalist, 
and famed as one of the quaintest and most retired 
villages in Hampshire. 

But one would linger long on the way if he 
paused at every landmark on the Southampton road. 
We had already loitered in the short distance which 
we had traveled until it was growing late, eind with 

82 



LONDON TO CAND'S END 

open throttle our car rapidly covered the last twenty 
miles of the fine road leading into Winchester. 

From a historical point of view, no town in the 
Kingdom surpasses the proud old city of Winches- 
ter. The Saxon capital still remembers her ancient 
splendor and it was with a manifest touch of pride 
that the old verger who guided us through the cathe- 
dral dwelt on the long line of kings who had reigned 
at Winchester before the Norman conquest. To 
him, London at best was only an upstart and an 
usurper. Why, 

"When Oxford was shambles 

And Westminster was brambles, 

Winchester was in her glory." 
And her glory has never departed from her and 
never will so long as her great cathedral stands in- 
tact, guarding its age-long line of proud traditions. 
The exterior is not altogether pleasing — the length, 
exceeding that of any cathedral in Europe, together 
with the abbreviated tower, impresses one with a 
painful sense of lack of completeness and a failure of 
proper proportion. It has not the splendid site of 
Durham or Lincoln, the majesty of the massive 
tower of Canterbury, or the grace of the great spire 
of Salisbury. But its interior makes full amends. No 
cathedral in all England can approach it in elab- 
orate carvings and furnishings or in interesting relics 
and memorials. Here lie the bones of the Saxon 

83 



BRITISir HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

King Ethelwulf, father of Alfred the Great; of 
Canute, whose sturdy common sense silenced his 
flatterers ; and of many others. A scion of the usurp- 
ing Norman sleeps here too, in the tomb where 
Willicim Rufus was buried, "with many looking on 
and few grieving." In the north aisle a monumental 
brass covers the grave of Jane Austen and a great 
window to her memory sends its many-colored shafts 
of light from above. In the south transept rests Ike 
Walton, the prince of fishermen, who, it would seem 
to us, must have slept more peacefully by some rip- 
pling brook. During the Parlizimentary wars Win- 
chester was a storm center and the cathedral suffered 
severely at the hands of the Parliamentarians. Yet, 
fortunately, many of its ancient monuments and furn- 
ishings escaped the wrath of the Roundhead icon- 
oclasts. The cathedral is one of the oldest in Eng- 
land, having been mainly built in the Ninth Century. 
Recently it has been discovered that the foundations 
are giving away to an extent that makes extensive 
restoration necessary, but it will only be restored and 
not altered in any way. 

But we may not pause long to tell the story of 
even Winchester Cathedral in this hasty record of 
a motor flight through Britain. And, speaking of the 
motor car, ardent devotee as I am, I could not help 
feeling a painful sense of the inappropriateness of 
its presence in Winchester; of its rush through the 

84 



LONDON TO LAND'S END 

streets at all hours of the night; of its clatter as it 
climbed the steep hills in the town; of the blast of its 
unmusical horn; and of its glaring lights, falling 
weirdly on the old buildings. It seemed an intruder 
in the capital of King Alfred. 

There is much else in Winchester, though the 
cathedral and its associations may overshadow 
everything. The college, one of the earliest educa- 
tional institutions in the Kingdom, was founded 
about 1300, and many of the original buildings 
stand almost unchanged. The abbey has vanished 
though the grounds still serve as a public garden; 
and of Wolvesley Palace, a castle built in 1 1 38, 
only the keep still stands. How commonplace this 
saying, "Only the keep still stands," becomes of 
English castles, anyway, — thanks to the old build- 
ers who made the keep strong and high to with- 
stand time, and so difficult to tear down that it es- 
caped the looters of the ages. 

A day might well be given to the vicinity of 
Winchester, though many steep hills would be en- 
countered. In any event, one should visit Twyford, 
only three miles away, often known as the "queen 
of the Hampshire villages" and famous for the finest 
yew tree in England. It is of especial interest to 
Americans, since Benjamin Franklin wrote his auto- 
biography here while a guest of Dr. Shipley, Vicar 

85 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

of St. Asaph, whose house, a fine Elizabethan man- 
sion, still stcinds. 

To Salisbury by way of Romsey is a fine drive 
of about thirty miles over good roads and through 
a very pleasing country. Long before we reached 
the town there rose into view its great cathedral 
spire, the loftiest and most graceful in Britain, a 
striking landmark from the country for miles around. 
Following the winding road and passing through the 
narrow gateway entering High Street, we came di- 
rectly upon this magnificent church, certainly the 
most harmonious in design of any in the Kingdom. 
The situation, too, is unique, the cathedral standing 
entirely separate from any other building, its gray 
walls and buttresses rising sheer up from velvety turf 
such as is seen in England alone. It was planned 
and completed within the space of fifty years, which 
accounts for its uniformity of style; while the con- 
struction of most of the cathedrals ran through the 
centuries with various architecture in vogue at differ- 
ent periods. The interior, however, lacks interest, 
and the absence of stained glass gives an air of cold- 
ness. It seems almost unbelievable that the original 
stained windows were deliberately destroyed at the 
end of the Eighteenth Century by a so-called archi- 
tect, James Wyatt, who had the restoration of the 
cathedral in charge. To his everlasting infamy, 
"Wyatt swept away screens, chapels and porches, 

86 



LONDON TO LAND'S END 

desecrated and destroyed the tombs of warriors and 
prelates, obliterated ancient paintings; flung stained 
glass by cartloads into the city ditch; and razed to 
the ground the beautiful old campanile which stood 
opposite the north porch." That such desecration 
should be permitted in a civilized country only a 
century ago indeed seems incredible. 

No one who visits Salisbury will forget Stone- 
henge, the most remarkable relic of prehistoric man 
to be found in Britain. Nearly everyone is familiar 
with fHctures of this solitary circle of stones standing 
on an eminence of Salisbury Plain, but one who has 
not stood in the shadow of these gigantic monoliths 
can have no idea of their rugged grandeur. Their 
mystery is deeper than that of Egypt's sphynx, for 
we know something of early Egyptian history, but 
the very memory of the men who reared the stones 
on Salisbury Plain is forgotten. Who they were, 
why they built this strange temple, or how they 
brought for long distances these massive rocks that 
would tax modern resources to transport, we have 
scarcely a hint. The stones stand in two concentric 
circles, those of the inner ring being about half the 
height of the outer ones. Some of the stones are 
more than twenty feet high and extend several feet 
into the ground. There are certain signs which 
seem to indicate that Stonehenge was the temple of 
some early sun-worshiping race, and Sir Norman 

87 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

Lockyer, who has made a special study of the sub- 
ject, places the date of construction about 1680 
B. C. No similar stone is found in the vicinity; 
hence it is proof positive that the builders of Stone- 
henge must have transported the enormous monoliths 
for many miles. The place lies about eight miles 
north of Salisbury. We went over a rather lonely 
and uninteresting road by the way of Amesbury, 
which is two miles from Stonehenge. We returned 
by a more picturesque route, following the River 
Avon to Salisbury and passing through Millston, a 
quaint little village where Joseph Addison was born 
in 1672. 

A few miles south of Salisbury we entered New 
Forest, an ancient royal hunting domain covering 
nearly three hundred square miles and containing 
much of the most pleasing woodland scenery in Eng- 
land. This is extremely diversified but always beau- 
tiful. Glades and reaches of gentle park and mead- 
ow and open, heathlike stretches contrast wonder- 
fully with the dark masses of huge oaks and beeches, 
under some of which daylight never penetrates. We 
stopped for the night at Lyndhurst, directly in the 
center of the forest and sometimes called the capital 
of New Forest. It looked strangely new for an 
English town, and the large church, built of red 
brick and white stone, showed its recent origin. In 
this church is a remarkable altar fresco which was 

88 



LONDON TO LAND'S END 

executed by the late Lord Leighton. The fine roads 
and splendid scenery might occupy at least a day 
if time permits; but if, like us, one must hasten on- 
ward, a run over the main roads of New Forest will 
give opportunity to see much of its sylvan beauty. 

Our route next day through the narrow byways 
of Dorsetshire was a meandering one. From Lynd- 
hurst we passed through Christchurch, Blandford 
and Dorchester and came for the night to Yeovil. 
We passed through no place of especial note, but 
no day of our tour afforded us a better idea of the 
more retired rural sections of England. By the road- 
side everywhere were the thatched roof cottages 
with their flower gardens, and here and there was 
an ancient village which to all appearances might 
have been standing quite the same when the Con- 
queror landed in Britain. Oftentimes the byways 
were wide enough for only one vehicle, but were 
slightly broadened here and there to afford oppor- 
tunity for passing. Many of the crossings lacked the 
familiar sign-boards, and the winding byways, with 
nothing but the map for a guide, were often con- 
fusing, and sharp turns between high hedges made 
careful driving necessary. At times we passed be- 
tween avenues of tall trees and again unexpectedly 
dropped into some quiet village nestling in the Dor- 
set hills. One of the quaintest of these, not even 
mentioned in Baedeker, is Cerne Abbas, a straggling 

89 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

village through which the road twisted along — a 
little old-world community, seemingly severed from 
modern conditions by centuries. It rather lacked 
the cozy picturesqueness of many English villages. 
It seemed to us that it wanted much of the bloom 
and shrubbery. Everjrwhere were the gray stone 
houses with thatched roofs, sagging walls and odd 
little windows with square or diamond-shaped pames 
set in iron casements. Nowhere was there a struc- 
ture that had the slightest taint of newness. The 
place is quite unique. I do not recall another village 
that impressed us in just the same way. Our car 
seemed strangely out of place as it cautiously fol- 
lowed the crooked main street of the towni, and the 
attention bestowed on it by the smaller natives in- 
dicated that a motor was not a common sight in 
Ceme Abbas. Indeed, we should have missed it 
ourselves had we not wandered from the main road 
into a narrow lane that led to the village. While we 
much enjoyed our day in the Dorset byways, our 
progress had necessarily been slow. 

In Yeovil, we found an old English town ap- 
parently without any important history, but a pros- 
perous center for a rich farming country. The place 
is neat and clean and has a beautifully kept public 
park — a feature of which the average English town 
appears more appreciative than the small American 
city. 

90 



LONDON TO LAND'S END 

From Yeovil to Torquay, through Exeter, with a 
stop at the latter place, was an unusually good day's 
run. The road was more hilly than any we had 
passed over heretofore, not a few of the grades be- 
ing styled "dangerous," and we had been warned 
by an English friend that we should find difficult 
roads and steep hills in Devon and Cornwall. How- 
ever, to one who had driven over some of our worst 
American roads, even the "bad" roads of England 
looked good, and the "dangerous" hills, with their 
smooth surface and generally uniform grade, were 
easy for our moderate-powered motor. 

Exeter enjoys the distinction of having continu- 
ously been the site of a town or city for a longer 
period than is recorded of any other place in Eng- 
land. During the Roman occupation it was known 
as a city, and it is believed that the streets, which 
are more regular than usual and which generally 
cross each other at right angles, were first laid out by 
the Romans. It is an important town of about fifty 
thousand inhabitants, with thriving trade and manu- 
factures, and modern improvements are in evidence 
everywhere. 

The cathedral, though not one of the largest or 
most imposing, is remarkable for the elaborate carv- 
ing of the exterior. The west front is literally covered 
with life-size statues set in niches in the wall, but 
the figures are all sadly time-worn, many of them 

91 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

having almost crumbled away. Evidently the 
Roundheads were considerate of Exeter Cathedral 
that such a host of effigies escaped destruction at 
their hands; and they were not very well disposed 
towards Exeter, either, as it was always a Royalist 
stronghold. Possibly it was spared because the 
Cromwellians found it useful as a place of worship, 
and in order to obtain peace and harmony between 
the two factions of the army the cathedral was 
divided into two portions by a high brick wall 
through the center, the Independents holding forth 
on one side and the Presbyterians on the other. 

The road from Exeter to Torquay follows the 
coast for some distance, affording many fine views 
of the ocean. We were now in the "limestone coun- 
try," and the roads are exceedingly dusty in dry 
weather. The dust, in the form of a fine white 
powder, covers the trees and vegetation, giving the 
country here and there an almost ghostly appear- 
ance. No wonder that in this particular section there 
is considerable prejudice against the motor on ac- 
count of its great propensity to stir up the dust. So 
far as we ourselves were concerned, we usually left 
it behind us, and it troubled us only when some other 
car got in ahead of us. 

Torquay is England's Palm Beach — a seacoast-re- 
sort town where the temperature rarely falls below 
forty degrees, thanks to the warm current of the gulf 

92 



LONDON TO LAND'S END 

stream; and where the sea breezes keep down the 
summer heat, which seldom rises above sixty de- 
grees. It is especially a winter resort, although the 
hotels keep open during the year. Most of the town 
is finely situated on a high promontory overlooking a 
beautiful harbor, studded with islands and detached 
rocks that half remind one of Capri. From our ho- 
tel window we had a glorious ocean view, made the 
more interesting for the time being by a dozen of 
King Edward's men-of-war, supposed to be de- 
fending Torquay against "the enemy" of a mimic 
naval warfare. 

On the opposite side of Tor Bay is the quiet little 
fishing village of Brixham, the landing-place of 
Prince William of Orange. We reached here early 
on a fine June day when everything was fresh after 
heavy showers during the night. The houses rise in 
terraces up the sharp hillside fronting the harbor, 
which was literally a forest of fishing-boat masts. 
A rather crude stone statue of William stands on the 
quay and a brass foot-print on the shore marks the 
exact spot where the Dutch prince first set foot in 
England, accompanied by an army of thirteen thous- 
and men. Our car attracted a number of urchins, 
who crowded around it and, though we left it un- 
guarded for an hour or more to go out on the sea- 
wall and look about the towni, not one of the fisher- 
lads ventured to touch it or molest anything — an 

93 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

instance of the law-abiding spirit which we found 
everywhere in England. 

From Brixham, an hour's drive over bad roads 
brought us to Dartmouth, whither we had been at- 
tracted by the enthusiastic Icmguage of an English 
writer who asserts that "there is scarcely a more ro- 
mantic spot in the whole of England than Dart- 
mouth. Spread out on one of the steep slopes of 
the Dart, it overlooks the deep-set river toward the 
sea. Steep wooded banks rising out of the water's 
edge give the windings of the estuaries a solemn 
mystery which is wanting in meadows and plough- 
land. In the midst of scenery of this character — 
and it must have been richer still a few centuries 
back — the inhabitants of Dartmouth made its his- 
tory." 

As we approached the town, the road continually 
grew worse until at last it would have compared very 
well with the country highway in America, though 
with this difference in favor of the latter — the sharp 
loose stones everywhere were ruinous on tires. It 
finally plunged sharply down to a ferry, over which 
we crossed the Dart and landed directly in the town. 
There are few towns in England more charmingly 
located, and a hundred years ago it was an import- 
ant seaport, dividing honors about equally with 
Plymouth. 

94 



LONDON TO LAND'S END 

The road to Dartmouth was unusually trying; 
the route which we took to Plymouth was by odds 
the worst of equal distance we found anywhere. We 
began with a precipitous climb out of the town, a 
steep hill three miles long, with many sharp turns 
that made the ascent all the more difficult. We were 
speedily lost in a network of unmarked byways run- 
ning through a distressingly poor-looking and appar- 
ently thinly inhabitated country. After a deal of 
studying the map and the infrequent sign-boards 
we brought up in a desolate-looking little village, 
merely a row of gray stone, slate-roofed houses on 
either side of the way, and devoid of a single touch 
of the picturesque which so often atones for the pov- 
erty of the English cottages. No plot of shrubbery 
or flower-garden broke the gray monotony of the 
place. We had seen nothing just like it in Eng- 
land, though the Scotch villages matched it very well 
later on. 

Here a native gave us the cheerful information 
that we had come over the very road we should not 
have taken; that just ahead of us was a hill where 
the infrequent motor cars generally stalled, but he 
thought that a good strong car could make it all 
right. Our car tackled the hill bravely enough, but 
slowed to a stop before reaching the summit; but 
by unloading everybody except the driver, and 
with more or less coaxing and adjusting, it was in- 

95 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

duced to try it again, with a rush that carried it 
through. The grade, though very steep, was not so 
much of an obstacle as the deep sand with which 
the road was covered. We encountered many steep 
hills and passed villages nearly as unprepossessing 
as the first one before we came to the main Ply- 
mouth-Exeter road, as excellent a highway as one 
could wish. It was over this that our route had 
originally been outlined, but our spirit of adventure 
led us into the digression I have tried to describe. 
It was trying at the time, but we saw a phase of 
England that we otherwise should have missed and 
have no regrets for the strenuous day in the Devon- 
shire byways. 

Plymouth, with the adjoining towns of Devon- 
port and Stonehouse, is one of the most important 
seaports in the Kingdom, the combined population 
being about two hundred thousand. The harbor is 
one of the best and affords safe anchorage for the 
largest ocean-going vessels. It is protected by a stu- 
pendous granite breakwater, costing many millions 
and affording a delightful promenade on a fine day. 
Plymouth is the principal government naval port and 
its ocean commerce is gaining rapidly on that of 
Liverpool, To Americans it appeals chieHy on ac- 
count of its connection with the Pilgrim Fathers, who 
sailed from its harbor on the Mayflower in 1 620. A 
granite block set in the pier near the oldest part of 

96 



LONDON TO LAND'S END 

the city is supposed to mark the exact spot of de- 
parture on the journey, whose momentous results 
were not then dreamed of. I could not help think- 
ing what a fine opportunity is offered here for some 
patriotic American millionaire to erect a suitable 
memorial to commemorate the sailing of the little 
ship, fraught with its wonderful destiny. The half 
day spent about the old city was full of interest; but 
the places which we missed would make a most dis- 
couraging list. It made us feel that we ought to 
have two or three years to tour Britain instead of a 
single summer's vacation. 

From Plymouth to Penzance through Truro runs 
the finest road in Cornwall, broad, well kept and 
with few steep grades. It passes through a beau- 
tiful section and is bordered in many places by the 
immense parks of country estates. In some of these 
the woods were seemingly left in their natural wild 
state, though close inspection showed how carefully 
this appearance was maintained by judicious land- 
scape gardening. In many of the parks, the rhodo- 
dendrons were in full bloom, and their rich masses 
of color wonderfully enlivened the scenery. Every- 
thing was fresh and bright. It had been raining 
heavily the night before and the air was free from 
the dust that had previously annoyed us. It would 
be hard to imagine anything more inspiring than the 
vistas which opened to us as we sped along. The 

97 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

road usually followed the hills in gende curves, but 
at places it rose to splendid points of vantage from 
which to view the delightful valleys. Then again 
it lost itself under great over-arching trees, and as we 
came too rapidly down a steep hill on entering 
Bodmin, the road was so heavily shaded that we 
were near our undoing. The loose sand had been 
piled up by the rain and the dense shade prevented 
the road from drying. The car took a frightful skid 
and by a mere hair's breadth escaped disastrous 
collision with a stone wall — but we learned some- 
thing. 

After leaving Truro, an ancient town with a re- 
cently established cathedral, the road to Penzance, 
though excellent, is without special interest. It 
passes through the copper-mining section of Corn- 
wall and the country is dotted with abandoned 
mines. A few are still operated, but it has come to 
the point where, as a certain Englishman has said, 
"Cornwall must go to Nevada for her copper," and 
there are more Cornish miners in the western states 
than there are in their native shire. 

Penzance is another of the South of England re- 
sort towns and is beautifully situated on Mount Bay. 
One indeed wonders at the great number of seacoast 
resorts in Britain, but we must remember that there 
are forty millions of people in the Kingdom who 
need breathing places as well as a number of Amer- 

98 



LONDON TO LAND'S END 

iccins who come to these resorts. The hotels at these 
places are generally excellent from the English point 
of view, which differs somewhat from the American. 
Probably there is no one point on which the differ- 
ence is greater than the precise temperature that con- 
stitutes personal comfort and makes a fire in the room 
necessary. On a chilly, muggy day when an Ameri- 
can shivers and calls for a fire in the generally dimin- 
utive grate in his room, the native enjoys himself or 
even complains of the heat, and is astonished at his 
thin-skinned cousin, who must have his room^ — ac- 
cording to the British notion — heated to suffocation. 
The hotel manager always makes a very adequate 
charge for fires in guest-rooms and is generally chary 
about warming the corridors or public parts of the 
hotel. In one of the large London hotels which act- 
ually boasts of steam heat in the hallways, we were 
amazed on a chilly May day to find the pipes warm 
and a fine fire blazing in the great fireplace in the 
lobby. The chambermaid explained the astonishing 
phenomenon: the week before several. Americans 
had complained frequently of the frigid atmosphere 
of the place without exciting much sympathy from 
the management, but after they had left the hotel, 
it was taken as an evidence of good faith and the 
heat was turned on. But this digression has taken 
me so far away from Penzance that I may as well 
close this chapter with it. 

99 



VII 

FROM CORNWALL TO SOUTH WALES 

In following a five-thousand-mile motor journey 
through Britain, there will be little to say of Pen- 
zance, a pleasant resort town yet without anything 
of notable importance. A mile farther down the 
coast is Newlyn, a fishing-village which has become 
a noted resort for artists and has given its name to 
a school of modern painting. A handsome building 
for a gallery and art institute, and which also serves 
as headquarters for the artists, has recently been 
erected by a wealthy benefactor. We walked over 
to the village, hoping to learn that the fisher-fleet 
would be in the next morning, but were disappoint- 
ed. A man of whom we inquired informed us that 
the fishermen would not bring in their catch until 
two days later. He seemed to recognize at once 
that we were strangers — Americans, they all know 
it intuitively — and left his task to show us about the 
immense quay where the fishermen dispose of their 
catch at auction. He conducted us out on the gran- 
ite wall, built by the Government to enclose the har- 
bor and insuring the safety of the fisher-fleet in 
fiercest storms. He had been a deep-sea fisherman 

100 



FROM CORNWALL TO SOUTH WALES 

himself and told us much of the life of these sturdy 
fellows and the hardships they endure for little pay. 

The ordinary fishing boat is manned by five or six 
men and makes two trips each week to the deep-sea 
fishing "grounds," seventy-five to one hundred miles 
away. It is rude and comfortless in the extreme and 
so constructed as to be nearly unsinkable if kept off 
the rocks. The fish are taken by trawling great nets 
and drawing them aboard with a special tackle. The 
principal catch of the Newlyn fisherman is herring, 
which are pickled in the village and exported, main- 
ly to Norway and Sweden. The value of the fish 
depends on the state of the market, and the price 
realized is often as low as a shilling per hundred- 
weight. The majority of the population of Corn- 
wall is engaged directly or indirectly in the fisheries, 
and considering the inferiority of much of the coun- 
try for agriculture and the extensive coast line with 
its numerous harbors, it is not strange that so many 
of the natives should follow this life. In earlier days, 
smuggling and wrecking constituted the occupation 
of a large number of the Cornishmen, but under 
modern conditions these gentle arts can no longer be 
successfully practiced, and fishing furnishes about- 
the only alternative. 

Just across the peninsula is St. Ives, another fish- 
ing village, even more picturesque than Newlyn and 
quite as much in favor with the artists. To reach 

101 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

this town we turned a few miles from the main road 
on the following day, but missed the fisher-fleet as 
before. The bay on which St. Ives is situated is the 
most beautiful on the Cornish coast, and on the day 
of our visit the bright stretch of water, sleeping plac- 
idly under the June skies and dotted with glistening 
tails, well maintained its reputation for surpassing 
loveliness. Before we entered the town a man of 
whom we inquired the way advised us to leave our 
car and walk down the sharp descent to the coast, 
where the village mostly lies. The idea of the re- 
turn trip was not pleasing, and we boldly started 
down, only to wish we had been more amenable 
to the friendly advice, for a steeper, narrower, 
crookeder street we did not find anjrwhere. In 
places it was too narrow for vehicles to pass abreast, 
and sharp turns on a very steep grade, in streets 
crowded with children, made the descent exceed- 
ingly trying. However, we managed to get through 
safely and came to a stop directly in front of the 
Fifteenth Century church, an astonishingly imposing 
structure for a village which showed more evidences 
of poverty than anything else. The church was 
built at a time when the smugglers and wreckers of 
Cornwall no doubt enjoyed greater prosperity and 
felt, perhaps, more anxiety for their souls' welfare 
than do their fisher-folk descendants. 

On re-ascending the hill we stopped at the 

102 



FROM CORNWALL TO SOUTH WALES 

Castle for our noonday luncheon, but the castle in 
this instance is a fine old mansion built about a hun- 
dred years ago as a private residence and since 
passed into the possession of a railway company, 
which has converted it into an excellent hotel. Sit- 
uated as it is, in a fine park on the eminence over- 
looking the bay, few hostelries at which we paused 
seemed more inviting for a longer sojourn. 

Four miles from Penzance are Marazion and St. 
Michael's Mount, which takes its name from the 
similar but larger and more imposing cathedral- 
crowned headland off the coast of France. It is a 
remarkable granite rock, connected with the main- 
land by a strip of sand, which is clear of the water 
only four hours of the day. The rock towers to a 
height of two hundred and fifty feet and is about 
a mile in circumference. It is not strange that in the 
days of castle-building such an isolated site should 
have been seized upon ; and on the summit is a many- 
towered structure built of granite and so carefully 
adapted to its location as to seem almost a part of 
the rock itself. When we reached Marazion, the re- 
ceding tide had left the causeway dry, and as we 
walked leisurely the mile or so between the town and 
the mount, the water was already stealthily en- 
croaching on the pathway. We found the castle 
more of a gentleman's residence than a fortress, and 
it was evidently never intended for defensive pur- 

103 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

poses. It has been the residence of the St. Aubyn 
family since the time of Charles II, and the villagers 
were all agog over elaborate preparations to cele- 
brate the golden wedding anniversary of the present 
proprietor. The climb is a wearisome one, and we 
saw little of the castle, being admitted only to the 
entrance-hall and the small Gothic chapel, which 
was undergoing restoration; but the fine view from 
the battlements alone is worth the effort. The castle 
never figured in history and is remarkable chieHy for 
its unique location. By the time of our return the 
tide had already risen several feet and we were 
rowed to the mainland in a boat. 

On our return to Truro we took the road by 
which we came, but on leaving there our road 
roughly followed the Northern Cornish coast, and 
at intervals we caught glimpses of the ocean. For 
some distance we ran through a rough moorland 
country, although the road was comparatively level 
and straight. We passed Camelford — the Camelot 
of the Arthur legends — only five miles distant from 
the ruins of Tintagel Castle on the coast. To our 
regret afterwards, we passed this and came early to 
Launceston, where the clean, hospitable-looking 
White Hart Hotel offered strong inducement to stop 
for the night. A certain weariness of the flesh, re- 
sulting from a thirty-mile clip over the last long 

104 



FROM CORNWALL TO SOUTH WALES 

stretch of the moorland road, was an equally im- 
portant factor in influencing our action. 

Launceston was one of the surprises that we fre- 
quently came across — a town that we had never 
heard of before and doubtless one that an American 
seldom sees. Yet the massive castle, whose circular 
keep crowns an eminence overlooking the town, was 
one of the objects that loomed into view long before 
we reached the place, and its gloomy grandeur, as 
we wandered through its ruins in the fading twilight, 
deeply impressed us. A rude stairway led to the 
top of the great circular tower, rising high above the 
summit of the hill, which itself dominates the coun- 
try, and the view which stretched away in every di- 
rection was far-reaching and varied. The castle has 
been gradually falling into ruin for the last six hun- 
dred years, but in its palmy days it must have been 
one of the grimmest and most awe-inspiring of the 
fortresses in the west country. Scarcely another 
ruin did we see anywhere more imposing in location 
and more picturesque in decay. Masses of ivy clung 
to the crumbling walls and all around spread a beau- 
tiful park, with soft, velvety turf interspersed with 
shrubbery and bright with dashes of color from num- 
erous well cared-for flower beds. 

Not less unique is St. Steven's Church, the like of 
which is not to be found elsewhere in Britain. Its 
walls are a network of fine carving, vine and flower 

105 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

running riot in stone, and they told us that this del- 
icate work was done by English stonecutters, though 
nearly all such carving on the cathedrals was done 
by artisans from the continent. The Launceston 
church is pointed to as an evidence that English 
workmen could have done quite as well had they 
been given the chance. Aside from this wonderful 
carving, which covers almost every stone of the ex- 
terior, the church is an imposing one and has lately 
been restored to its pristine magnificence. Launces- 
ton had its abbey, too, but this has long since dis- 
appeared, and all that remains of it is the finely 
carved Norman doorway now built into the entrance 
of the White Hart Hotel. 

Our next day's run was short, covering only forty- 
two miles between Launceston and Exeter. For 
about half the distance the road runs along the edge 
of Dartmoor, the greatest of English moorlands. A 
motor trip of two or three days through the moor 
itself would be time well spent, for it abounds in ro- 
mantic scenery. The road which we followed was 
a good one, though broken into numerous steep hills, 
but a part of the way we might as well have been 
traveling through a tunnel so far as seeing the country 
was concerned. A large proportion of the fences 
were made of earth piled up four or five feet high, 
and on the top of this ridge were planted the hedges, 
generally reaching three or four feet higher. There 

106 



FROM CORNWALL TO SOUTH WALES 

were times when we could catch only an occasional 
glimpse of the landscape, and if such fences were 
everywhere in England they would be a serious 
deterrent upon motoring. Fortunately, they pre- 
vail in a comparatively small section, for we did not 
find them outside of Cornwall and Devon. This 
experience served to impress on us how much we lost 
when the English landscapes were hidden — that the 
vistas which flitted past us as we hurried along were 
among the pleasantest features of our journey. It was 
little short of distressing to have mud fences shut 
from view some of the most fascinating country 
through which we passed. 

The greater part of the day we were in Exeter, 
where the car was put in shipshape at a well 
equipped garage. The Rougemont Hotel, where 
we stopped for the night, is spacious and comfort- 
able, and a series of stained-glass windows at the 
head of the great staircase told the story of Richard 
Ill's connection with Exeter; how, according to 
Shakespeare's play, the Rougemont of Exeter re- 
called to the king's superstitious mind an ancient 
prophecy of his defeat at the hands of Richmond, 
later Henry VII. 

Leaving Exeter early, we planned to reach Bath 
in the evening — only eighty-one miles over an almost 
perfect road — not a very long run so far as actual 
distance is concerned, but entirely too long consid- 

107 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

ering the places of unusual interest that lie along the 
road. We passed through the little town of Well- 
ington, noted chiefly for giving his title to the Iron 
Duke, and it commemorates its great namesake by 
a lofty column reared on one of the adjacent hills. 

No town in Britain has an ecclesiastical history 
so important as Glastonbury, whose tradition 
stretches back to the very beginning of Christianity 
in the Island. Legend has it that St. Joseph of Ar- 
imathea, who begged the body of Christ and buried 
it, came here in the year 63 and was the founder of 
the abbey. He brought with him, tradition says, 
the Holy Grail; and a thorn-tree staff which he 
planted in the abbey grounds became a splendid 
tree, revered for many centuries as the Holy Thorn. 
The original tree has vanished, though there is a. 
circumstantial story that it was standing in the time of 
Cromwell and that a Puritan who undertook to cut it 
down as savoring of idolatry had an eye put out by 
a flying chip and was dangerously wounded by his 
axe-head flying off and striking him. With its awe- 
inspiring traditions — for which, fortunately, proof 
was not required — it is not strange that Glastonbury 
for many centuries was the greatest and most power- 
ful ecclesiastical establishment in the Kingdom. The 
buildings at one time covered sixty acres, and many 
hundreds of monks and dignitaries exerted great in- 
fluence on temporal as well as ecclesiastical affairs. 

108 



FROM CORNWALL TO SOUTH WALES 

It is rather significant that it passed through the Nor- 
man Conquest unscathed; not even the greedy con- 
querors dared invade the sanctity of Glastonbury 
Abbey. The revenue at that time is said to have 
been about fifty thousand pounds yearly and the 
value of a pound then would equal twenty-five to 
fifty of our American dollars. However much the 
Normans respected the place, its sanctity had no ter- 
rors for the rapacious Henry VIII. The rich rev- 
enues appealed too strongly and he made a clean 
sweep, hanging the mitered abbot and two of his 
monks on the top of Tor Hill. The Abbey is the 
traditional burial-place of King Arthur and Queen 
Guinevere, and four of the Saxon kings sleep in un- 
marked graves within its precincts. Considering its 
once vast extent, the remaining ruins are scanty, al- 
though enough is left to show how imposing and 
elaborate it must have been in its palmy days. And 
there are few places in the Kingdom where one is 
so impressed with the spirit of the ancient order of 
things as when surrounded by the crumbling walls of 
Glastonbury Abbey. 

At Wells is the cathedral that gives the town aji 
excuse for existence. Although one of the smallest 
of these great English churches, it is in many respects 
one of the most symmetrical and beautiful. Its glory 
is centered chiefly in its west front, with deep 
buttresses and many sculptured images of kings and 

109 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

saints. We had only an unsatisfactory glimpse of 
the interior, as services happened to be in progress. 
The town of Wells is a mere adjunct to the cathe- 
dral. It has no history of its own; no great family 
has ever lived there; and it can claim no glory as 
the birthplace of distinguished sons. It is a quiet 
httle Somersetshire town which has preserved its an- 
tiquity and fascination. Its name is taken from the 
natural wells which are still found in the garden of 
the Bishop's palace. 

Bath, though it has the most remarkable Roman 
relics in the Kingdom, is largely modern. It is now 
a city of fifty thousand and dates its rise from the 
patronage of royalty a century and a half ago. It is 
one of the towns that a motorist could scarcely miss 
if he wished — so many fine roads lead into it — and 
I shall not attempt especial comment on a place so 
well known. Yet, as in our case, it may be a rev- 
elation to many who know of it in a general way 
but have no notion of the real extent of the Roman 
baths. These date from 50 to 100 A. D. and in- 
dicate a degree of civilization which shows that the 
Roman inhabitants in Britain must have been in- 
dustrious, intelligent and cleanly. 

Excavations have been conducted v^th great diffi- 
culty, since the Roman remains lie directly under an 
important part of the city covered with valuable 
buildings. Nearly all of the baths in the vicinity 

110 



FROM CORNWALL TO SOUTH WALES 

of the springs have been uncovered and found in a 
surprising state of perfection. In many places the 
tiling with its mosaic is intact, and parts of the system 
of piping laid to conduct the water still may be 
traced. Over the springs has been erected the mod- 
ern pump-house and many of the Roman baths have 
been restored to nearly their original state. In the 
pump-house is a museum with hundreds of relics 
discovered in course of excavation — sculpture, pot- 
tery, jewelry, coin and many other articles that in- 
dicate a high degree of civilization. Outside of the 
Roman remains the most notable thing in Bath is 
its abbey church, which, in impressive architecture 
and size, will compare favorably with many of the 
cathedrals. In fact, it originally was a cathedral, but 
in an early day the bishopric was transferred to 
Wells. There is no ruined fortress or castle in Bath, 
with its regulation lot of legends. Possibly in an 
effort to remedy the defect there has been erected 
on one of the hills that overlook the town a structure 
which goes by the epithet of the Sham Castle. 

On leaving Bath, we followed the fine London 
road as far as Chippenham, a prosperous agricultural 
town celebrated for its wool market. To the north 
of this is Malmesbury, with an abbey church whose 
history goes back to the Ninth Century. A por- 
tion of the nave is still used for services and is re- 
markable for its massive pillars and Norman door- 

111 



BRITISH "HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

way, the great arch of which has perhaps a hundred 
rude carvings illustrating scenes from scripture his- 
tory. The strong walls of the church caused it to be 
used at times as a fortress, and it underwent sieges 
in the different wars that raged over the Kingdom. 
The verger showed us where Cromwell's cannon 
had made deep indentations in the walls and told 
us that one of the abbey's vicissitudes was its use 
for some years as a cloth manufacturing estab- 
lishment. 

From Malmesbury we followed the road through 
Cirencester to Cheltenham, one of the most modern- 
looking cities which we saw in England. Like Bath, 
it is famous for its springs, and a large share of its 
population is said to be retired officers of the army 
and navy. The main streets are very wide, nearly 
straight, and bordered in many places with fine trees. 
However, its beginning dates from only about 1 700, 
and therefore it has little claim on the tourist whose 
heart is set upon ancient and historic things. 

Of much greater interest is its neighbor, Glou- 
cester, about twelve miles away. The two cities 
are of almost the same size, each having about fifty 
thousand people. Gloucester can boast of one of 
the most beautiful of the cathedrals, whether con- 
sidered from its imposing Gothic exterior or its in- 
terior, rich with carvings and lighted by unusually 
fine stained-glass windows, one of which is declared 

112 



FROM CORNWALL TO SOUTH WALES 

to be the largest in the world. The cathedral was 
begun in 1088, but the great tower was not com- 
pleted until nearly five hundred years later, which 
gives some idea of the time covered in the construc- 
tion of many of these great churches. Gloucester 
boasts of great antiquity, for it is known that the 
Britons had a fortified town here which they de- 
fended against the Roman attacks; and after having 
become possessed of it, the Romans greatly strength- 
ened it as a defense against incursions from the 
Welsh tribes. Before the Norman Conquest, it was 
of such importance that Edward the Confessor held 
his court in the town for some time. Being in the 
west country, it naturally was a storm-center in the 
parliamentary struggle, during which time a great 
deal of the city was destroyed. But there are many 
of the old portions still remaining and it has numbers 
of beautiful, half-timbered buildings. One of these 
was the home of Robert Raikes, known to the world 
as the founder of the Sunday School. Gloucester 
is worthy of a longer stay than we were able to 
make, and in arranging an itinerary one should not 
fail lo provide for a full day in the town. 

From Gloucester to Ross runs an excellent high- 
way, though rather devoid of interest. It was 
thronged with motorists who generally dashed along 
in sublime disregard of the speed limits. We 
passed several who were occupied with "roadside 

113 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

troubles" and we were in for an hour or so ourselves 
due to a refractory "vibrator." The Welsh farmers 
who passed joked us good-naturedly and one said 
he would stick to his horse until he had money to 
buy a motor — then he added he wouldn't buy it, but 
would live on the income of the money. We told 
him that he was a man after Solomon's own heart. 
Suddenly the evil spirit left the car and she sprang 
away over the beautiful road in mad haste that 
soon landed us in Ross. 

Ross is a pretty village, situated on a green hill- 
side overlooking the Wye, and the tall, graceful spire 
of its church dominates all views of the town. Al- 
though it was growing quite late, we did not stop 
here, but directed our way to Monmouth, twelve 
miles farther on, which we reached just as the long 
twilight was turning into night. 



114 



VIII 

THROUGH BEAUTIFUL WALES 

Of no part of our tour does a pleasanter memory 
linger than of the five or six hundred miles on the 
highways of Wales. The weather was glorious and 
no section of Britain surpassed the Welsh landscapes 
in beauty. A succession of green hills, in places im- 
pressive enough to be styled mountains, sloping 
away into wooded valleys, with here and there a 
quaint village, a ruined castle or abbey, or an impos- 
ing country mansion breaking on the view — all com- 
bined to make our journey through Wales one of 
our most pleasing experiences. Historic spots are 
not far apart, especially on the border, where for 
centuries these brave people fought the English in- 
vaders — and with wonderful success, considering the 
greatly superior number of the aggressors. I have 
already written of Ludlow and Shrewsbury on the 
north, but scarcely less attractive — and quite as im- 
portant in early days — are the fine old towns of 
Hereford and Monmouth on the southern border. 

We were everywhere favorably impressed with 
the Welsh people as being thrifty and intelligent. 
The roadside drinking-houses were not so numerous 

115 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

as in England, for the Welsh are evidently more 
temperate in this regard than their neighbors. My 
observation in this particular is borne out by an 
English writer well qualified to judge. He says: 
"There is, of a truth, very little drinking now in rural 
Wales. The farming classes appear to be extremely 
sober. Even the village parliament, which in Eng- 
land discusses the nation's affairs in the village public 
house, has no serious parallel in Wales, for the de- 
tached cottage-renting laborer, who is the mainstay 
of such gatherings, scarcely exists, and the farmer 
has other interests to keep him at home." Evidently 
the Welsh farmer does attend to his business in an 
industrious manner, for he generally has a substantial 
and prosperous appearance. People with whom we 
engaged in conversation were always courteous and 
obliging and almost everything conspired to heighten 
our good opinion of the Welsh. The fusion with 
England is nearly complete and the Welsh language 
is comparatively little used except by the older 
people. King Edward has no more loyal subjects 
than the Welshmen, but apparently they do not 
greatly incline towards admitting his claims as their 
spiritual head. The Church of England in Wales 
is greatly inferior in numbers and influence to the 
various non-conformist branches, of which the Wes- 
leyan is the strongest. This is especially true of the 
more rural sections. 

116 



THROUGH BEAUTIFUL WALES 

We found Monmouth an unusually interesting 
town on account of its antiquity and the numerous 
historic events which transpired within its walls. At 
the King's Head Hotel, which of course afforded 
shelter to Charles I when he was "touring" Britain, 
we were able with difficulty to find accommodation, 
so crowded was the house with an incursion of Eng- 
lish trippers. Monmouth's chief glory and distinction 
is that it was the birthplace of King Henry V, 
Shakespeare's Prince Hal, whom William Watson 
describes as 

"The roystering prince that afterward 
Belied his madcap youth and proved 
A greatly simple warrior lord 

Such as our warrior fathers loved." 

The scanty ruins of the castle where the prince 
was born still overlook the town. Thus King Henry 
became the patron of Monmouth, and in front of 
the town hall has been erected an inartistic effigy of 
a knight in full armour, with the inscription, "Henry 
V, born at Monmouth, August 9, 1 387." The old 
bridge over the river Monnow is unique, with an 
odd, castellated gateway at one end, probably in- 
tended not so much for defense as for collecting tolls. 

After dark we wandered about the streets until 
the church-tower chimes warned us of the lateness 
of the hour. And even these church bells have their 
history. When King Henry sailed from a seaport in 

117 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

Framce on one occasion the inhabitants rang the bells 
for joy, which so incensed the monarch that he or- 
dered the bells removed and presented them to his 
native town. We saw too little of Monmouth, for 
the next morning we were away early, taking the fine 
road that led directly south to Tintern and 
Chepstow. 

The abbey-builders chose their locations v^th un- 
erring judgment, always in a beautiful valley near 
a river or lake, surrounded by fertile fields and 
charming scenery. Of the score of ruined abbeys 
which we visited, there was not one that did not ful- 
fill this description, and none of them to a greater 
extent — possibly excepting Fountain's — than Tin- 
tern. In the words of an enthusiastic admirer, 
"Tintern is supremely wonderful for its situation 
among its scores of rivals. It lies on the very brink 
of the River Wye, in a hollow of the hills of Mon- 
mouth, sheltered from harsh winds, warmed by the 
breezes of the Channel — a very nook in an earthly 
Eden. Somehow the winter seems to fall more light- 
ly here, the spring to come earlier, the foliage to take 
on a deeper green, the grass a greater thickness, and 
the flowers a more multitudinous variety." Certain- 
ly the magnificent church — almost entire except for 
its fallen roof — standing in the pleasant valley sur- 
rounded by forest-clad hills on every side, well 
merited such enthusiastic language. It is well that 

118 



THROUGH BEAUTIFUL WALES 

this fine ruin is now in the possession of the Crown, 
for it insures that decay will be arrested and its 
beauties preserved as an inspiration to art and archi- 
tecture of later times. 

From Tintern to Chepstow we followed an un- 
surpassed mountain road. For three miles our car 
gradually climbed to the highest point, winding 
along the hillside, from which the valley of the 
Severn, with its broad river, spread out beneath us 
in all the freshness of June verdure; while on the 
other hand, for hundreds of feet sheer above us, 
sloped the hill, with its rich curtain of forest trees, 
the lighter green of the summer foliage dashed with 
the somber gloom of the yew. Just at the summit 
we passed the Wyndcliffe, towering five hundred 
feet above us, from which one may behold one of 
the most famous prospects in the Island. Then our 
car started down a three-mile coast over a smooth 
and uniform grade until we landed at the brow of 
the steep hill which drops sharply into Chepstow. 

A rude, gloomy fortress Chepstow Castle must 
have been in its day of might, and time has done 
little to soften its grim and forbidding aspect. Sit- 
uated on a high cliff which drops abruptly to the 
river, it must have been well-nigh invincible in days 
ere castle walls crumbled away before cannon-shot. 
It is of great extent, the walls enclosing an area of 
about four acres, divided into four separate courts. 

119 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

The best-preserved portion is the keep, or tower, in 
which the caretaker makes his home; but the fine 
chapel and banqueting hall were complete enough 
to give a good idea of their old-time state. We 
were able to follow a pathway around the top of 
the broad wall, from which was afforded a widely 
extended view over the mouth of the Severn towards 
the sea. "This is Martin's Tower," said our guide, 
"for in the dungeon beneath it the regicide, Henry 
Martin, spent the last twenty years of his life and 
died." The man spoke the word "regicide" as 
though he felt the stigma that it carries with it every- 
where in England, even though applied to the judge 
who condemned to death Charles Stuart, a man 
who well deserved to die. And when Britain pun- 
ished the regicides and restored to power the per- 
fidious race of the Stuarts, she was again putting 
upon herself the yoke of misgovernment and storing 
up another day of wrath and bloodshed. 

From Chepstow it is only a short journey to Rag- 
lan, whose ruined castle impressed us in many ways 
as the most beautiful we saw in Britain. It was 
far different from the rude fortress at Chepstow. In 
its best days it combined a military stronghold with 
the conveniences and artistic effects of a palace. It 
is fortunately one of the best-preserved of the castel- 
lated ruins in the Kingdom. Impressive indeed were 
the two square towers flanking its great entrance, 

120 



THROUGH BEAUTIFUL WALES 

yet their stern aspect was softened by the heavy 
masses of ivy that covered them almost to the top. 
The walls, though roofless, were still standing, so 
that one could gain a good idea of the original plan 
of the castle. The fire places, with elaborate mantels 
still in place, the bits of fine carvings that clung to 
the walls here and there, the grand staircase, a por- 
tion of which still remains, all combined to show that 
this castle had been planned as a superb residence 
as well as a fortress. From the Gwent tower there 
was an unobstructed view stretching away in every 
direction toward the horizon. The day was per- 
fect, without even a haze to obscure the distance, 
and save from Ludlow Castle, I saw nothing to 
equal the prospect which lay beneath me when 
standing on Raglan Tower. 

Raglan's active history ended with its surrender 
August 15, 1646, to the Parliamentary army under 
General Fairfax, after a severe siege of more than 
two months. It was the last fortress in England to 
hold out for the lost cause of King Charles, and a 
brave record did its gallant defenders make against 
an overwhelmingly superior force. The Marquis 
of Worcester, though eighty-five years of age, held 
the castle against the Cromwellians until starvation 
forced him to surrender. The old nobleman was 
granted honorable terms by his captors, but Parlia- 
ment did not keep faith, and he died a year later 

121 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

in the Tower of London. On being told a few days 
before his death that his body would be buried in 
Windsor Chapel, he cheerfully remarked: "Why, 
God bless us all, then I shall have a better castle 
when I am dead than they took from me when I 
was alive." 

After the surrender the castle was dismantled by 
the soldiers, and the farmers in the vicinity emulated 
the Parliamentary destroyers in looting the line ed- 
ifice. Seventeen of the stone staircases were taken 
away during the interval and the great hall and 
chapel were seriously injured. Enough of the mas- 
sive walls is left to convey a vivid idea of the olden 
grandeur of the castle. The motto of the time-worn 
arms inscribed over the entrance speaks eloquently 
of the past, expressing in Latin the sentiment, "I 
scorn to change or fear." 

A quiet, unpretentious old border town is Here- 
ford, pleasantly located on the banks of the always 
beautiful Wye. The square tower of the cathedral 
is the most conspicuous object when the town first 
comes into view. Though dating in part from the 
Eleventh Century, work on the cathedral occupied 
the centuries until 1530, when it was practically 
completed as it now stands. The vandal Wyatt, 
who dealt so hardly with Salisbury, had the restor- 
ation of the cathedral in hand early in the Eighteenth 
Century. He destroyed many of its most artistic 

122 



THROUGH BEAUTIFUL WALES 

features, but recently his work was undone and a 
second restoration was completed in about 1863. 
The structure as it now stands is mainly Norman in 
style, built of light-brown stone, and remarkably 
beautiful and imposing. 

Hereford Castle has entirely vanished, though a 
contemporary writer describes it as "one of the fair- 
est, largest, and strongest castles in England." The 
site which it occupied is now a public garden, di- 
versified with shrubbery and flowers. An orna- 
mental lake indicates where once was the moat, but 
the outlines of the walls are shown only by grass- 
covered ridges. Its history was no doubt as stirring 
as that of others of the border castles, which more 
fortunately escaped annihilation. 

Despite its present atmosphere of peace and 
quietude, Hereford saw strenuous times in the fierce 
warfare which raged between the English and 
Welsh, though few relics of those days remain. The 
streets are unusually wide and with few exceptions 
the buildings are modern. Surrounding the town is 
a stretch of green, level meadow, upon which graze 
herds of the red and white cattle whose fame is 
wider than that of their native shire. No doubt 
there are many familiar with the sleek Herefords 
who have no idea from whence they take their name. 

Our hotel, the Green Dragon, had recently been 
re-furnished and brightened throughout, and its ex- 

123 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

cellent service was much better than we often found 
in towns the size of Hereford. Its well planned 
motor garage, just completed, showed that its pro- 
prietors recognized the growing importance of this 
method of touring. 

Our run from Hereford up the Wye Valley to 
the sea, we agreed was one of our red-letter days. 
We passed through greatly varied scenery from the 
fertile, level country around Hereford to the rough, 
broken hills near the river's source, but the view was 
always picturesque in the highest degree. The road 
runs along the edge of the hills, and the glorious 
valley with its brawling river spread out before us 
almost the entire day. At times we ran through 
forests, which cover the immense parks surrounding 
the country estates along the river. We saw many 
fine English country-seats, ranging from old, castel- 
lated structures to apparently modern mansions. 
There are also a number of ruins along the valley, 
each with its romantic legends. At Hay, on the 
hill overlooking the town, is the castle, partly in 
ruins and partly in such state of repair as to be the 
summer home of the family that owns it. A little 
farther on, on a knoll directly overhanging the river, 
are crumbling piles of stone where once stood 
Clifford Castle, the home of Fair Rosamond, whose 
melancholy story Tennyson has woven into one of 
his dramas. 

124 



THROUGH BEAUTIFUL WALES 

As we advanced farther up the valley, the country 
grew wilder and more broken and for many miles 
we ran through the towering hills that pass for 
mountains in Wales. These were covered with 
bright-green verdure to their very tops, and the flocks 
of sheep grazing everywhere lent an additional 
charm to the picture. At the foot of the hills the 
road followed the valleys with gentle curves and 
easy grades. The Wye dwindled to the merest 
brook, and some miles before we reached the coast, 
we passed the head waters of the river and followed 
a brook flowing in an opposite direction. 

The road over which we had traveled is not fav- 
orable for fast time. Though comparatively level 
and with splendid surface, it abounds in sharp 
curves and in many places runs along high embank- 
ments. The Motor Union has recommended that 
eighteen miles per hour be not exceeded on this 
road. The distance from Hereford to Aberyswith 
is only ninety miles, yet we occupied the greater 
part of the day in the trip, and had time permitted, 
we would gladly have broken the journey at one of 
the quaint towns along the way. At many points 
of vantage we stopped to contemplate the beauty 
of the scene — one would have to be a speed maniac 
indeed to "scorch" over the Wye Valley road. 

Aberyswith is a seaside resort, somewhat similar 
to Penzance. It is situated on the harbor at the 

125 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

foot of a high bluff, and its principal feature is the 
long row of hotels fronting on the ocean. Though 
mostly modern, it is by no means without history, 
as evidenced by its ruined castle overlooking the 
sea and vouching for the antiquity of the town. 

We left Aberyswith next morning with consid- 
erable apprehension. Our books and maps showed 
that we would encounter by odds the worst roads 
of our entire tour. A grade of one in five along the 
edge of an almost precipitous hill was not an alluring 
prospect, for we were little inclined toward hill- 
climbing demonstrations. Shortly after leaving the 
town we were involved in poorly kept country by- 
ways without sign-boards and slippery with heavy 
rains of the night before. After meandering among 
the hills and inquiring of the natives for towns the 
names of which they could not understand when we 
asked and we could not understand when they an- 
swered, we came to Dinas Mowddwy, where there 
was little else than a handsome hotel. This remind- 
ed us that in our wanderings the hour for luncheon 
had passed. We stopped at the hotel, but found 
difficulty in locating anybody to minister to our 
wants; and so deliberate were the movements of the 
party who finally admitted responsibility that an hour 
was consumed in obtaining a very unpretentious re- 
past. 

The hotelkeeper held out a discouraging prospect 

126 



THROUGH BEAUTIFlfE WALES 

in regard to the hills ahead of us. He said that the 
majority of the motorists who attempted them were 
stalled and that there had been some serious acci- 
dents. We went on our way with considerable un- 
easiness, as our car had not been working well, and 
later on trouble was discovered in a broken valve- 
spring. However, we started over the mountain, 
which showed on our road-book to be not less than 
three miles in length. There were many dangerous 
turns of the road, which ran alongside an almost pre- 
cipitous incline, where there was every opportunity 
for the car to roll a mile or more before coming to 
a standstill if it once should get over the edge. We 
crawled up the hill until within about fifty yards from 
the top, and right at this point there was a sharp 
turn on an exceedingly stiff grade. After several 
trials at great risk of losing control of the car, I con- 
cluded that discretion was (sometimes) the better 
part of valor, and with great difficulty turned around 
and gave it up. 

We made a detour by way of Welshpool and 
Oswestry, where we came into the London and 
Holyhead road, bringing up for the night at 
Llangollen. We found it necessary to travel about 
sixty miles to get to the point which we would have 
reached in one-fourth the distance had we succeeded 
in climbing the hill. It proved no hardship, as we 
saw some of the most beautiful country in Wales 

127 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

and traveled over a level road which enabled us to 
make very good time with the partly crippled car. 

Although Llangollen is a delightful town, my 
recollections of it are anything but pleasant. Through 
our failure to receive a small repair which I ordered 
from London, we were delayed at this place for two 
days, cind as it usually chances in such cases, at one 
of the worst hotels whose hospitality we endured 
® during our trip. It had at one time been quite pre- 
tentious, but had degenerated into a rambling, dirty, 
old inn, principally a headquarters for fishing 
parties and local "trippers." I recollect it as the 
only hotel where stale, uneatable mutton chops were 
served. And yet at this miserable old house there 
were a number of guests who made great preten- 
sions at style. Women "dressed for dinner" in low- 
necked gowns with long trains; and the men attired 
themselves in dress-suits of various degrees of an- 
tiquity. 

While we were marooned here we visited Vale 
Crucis Abbey, about a mile distant. The custodian 
was absent, or in any event could not be aroused by 
vigorously ringing the cowbell suspended above the 
gate, and we had to content ourselves with a very 
unsatisfactory view of the ruin over the stone wall 
that enclosed it. The environments of Llangollen 
are charming in a high degree. The flower-bor- 
dered lanes lead past cottages and farm houses sur- 

128 



THROUGH BEAUTIFUL WALES 

rounded by low stone walls and half hidden by 
brilliantly colored creepers. Bits of woodland are 
interspersed with bright green sheep pastures and 
high, almost mountainous, bluffs overhang the valley. 
On the very summit of one of these is perched a 
ruined castle, whose inaccessible position discour- 
aged nearer acquaintance. 

The country around Llangollen was beautiful, 
but the memory of the hotel leaves a blight over all. 
We were happy indeed when our motor started off 
again with the steady, powerful hum that so delights 
the soul of the driver, and it seemed fairly to tremble 
with impatience to make up for its enforced inaction. 
Though it was eight o'clock in the evening, it was 
anything to get away from Llangollen, and we left 
with a view of stopping for the night at Bettws-y- 
Coed, about thirty miles away. 

With our motor racing like mad over the fine 
highway — there was no danger of police traps at 
that hour — we did not stop to inquire about the dog 
that went under the wheels in the first village we 
passed. However, the night set in suddenly and a 
rain began to fall heavily before we had gone half 
the distance we proposed. We had experienced 
trouble enough in finding the roads in Wales during 
the daytime, and the prospect of doing this by night 
and in a heavy rain was not at all encouraging, and 
we perforce had to put up at the first place that 

129 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

offered itself. A proposition to stop at one of the 
so-called inns along the road was received with 
alarm by the good woman who attended the bar. 
She could not possibly care for us and she was loud 
in her praises of the Saracen's Head at Cerrig-y- 
Druidion, only a little farther on, which she repre- 
sented as a particular haven for motorists. 

The appearcince of our car with its rapidly vi- 
brating engine and glaring headlights before the 
Saracen's Head created considerable commotion 
among the large family of the host and the numerous 
guests, who, like Tam-O'-Shanter, were snug and 
cozy by their inglenook while the storm was raging 
outside. However, the proprietor was equal to the 
occasion and told me that he had just come from 
Liverpool to take charge of the inn and that he 
hoped to have the patronage of motorists. With 
commendable enterprise he had fitted up a portion 
of his barn and had labeled it "Motor Garage" in 
huge letters. The stable man was also excited over 
the occasion, cind I am sure that our car was the 
first to occupy the newly created garage, which had 
no doubt been cut off from the cow-stable at a very 
recent date. 

The shelter of the Saracen's Head was timely 
and grateful none the less, and no one could have 
been kindlier or more attentive than our hostess. We 
had a nicely served lunch in the hotel parlor, which 

ISO 



THROUGH BEAUTIFUL WALES 

was just across the hallway from the lounging room 
where the villagers assembled to indulge in such 
moderate drinking as Welshmen are addicted to. 
The public room was a fine old apartment with 
open-beamed ceiling — not the sham with which we 
decorate our modern houses, but real open beams 
that supported the floor — and one end of the room 
was occupied by a great open fireplace with old- 
time spits and swinging cranes. Overhead was hung 
a supply of hams and bacon and on iron hooks above 
the door were suspended several dressed fowls, on 
the theory that these improve with age. We were 
given a small but clean and neat apartment, from 
which I suspicion the younger members of the land- 
lord's family had been unceremoniously ousted to 
make room for us. The distressing feature was the 
abominable beds, but as these prevailed in most of 
the country hotels at which we stopped we shall 
not lay this up too strongly against the Saracen's 
Head. I noticed that on one of the window-panes 
someone had scribbled with a diamond, "Sept. 4, 
1 726," which would seem to indicate that the orig- 
inal window was there at that time. The house 
itself must have been considerably older. If rates 
had been the sole inducement, we should un- 
doubtedly have become permanent boarders at the 
Saracen's Head, for I think that the bill for our 

131 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

party was seven shillings for supper, room and 
breakfast. 

We left Cerrig-y-Druidion next morning in a 
gray, driving rain with drifting fogs that almost hid 
the road at times. A few miles brought us to the 
Conway River and the road closely followed the 
stream through the picturesque scenery on its banks. 
It was swollen by heavy rains and the usually insig- 
nificant river was a wild torrent, dashing in rapids 
and waterfalls over its rocky bed. The clouds soon 
broke away and for the remainder of the day the 
weather was as fine as could possibly be wished for. 

Bettws-y-Coed is the most famous of mountain 
towns in Wales, and its situation is indeed romantic. 
It is generally reputed to be the chief Welsh honey- 
moon resort and a paradise for fishermen, but it has 
little to detain the tourist interested in historic 
Britain. We evidently should have fared much 
differently at its splendid hotels from what we did 
at Cerrig-y-Druidion, but we were never sorry for 
our enforced sojourn at the Saracen's Head. 

The road from Bettws-y-Coed to Carnarvon is 
a good one, but steep in places, and it passes through 
some of the finest mountain scenery in Wales. It 
leads through the Pass of Llanberis and past Snow- 
don, the king of the Welsh mountains — tame in- 
deed to one who has seen the Rockies. Snowdon, 

182 



THROUGH BEAUTIFUL WALES 

the highest of all, rises not so much as four thousand 
feet above the sea level. 

Carnarvon Castle is conceded from many points 
of view to be the finest ruin in the Kingdom. It 
does not occupy an eminence, as did so many castles 
whose position contributed much to their defense, 
but it depended more on its lofty watch-towers and 
the stupendous strength of its outer walls. These 
are built of solid granite with a thickness of ten feet 
or more in vital places, and it is doubtful if the old- 
time artillery would make much impression upon 
them. Its massive construction no doubt accounts 
for the wonderful preservation of the outer walls, 
which are almost entire, and Carnarvon Castle, as 
viewed from the outside, probably appears very 
much the same as it did when the builders completed 
the work about 1300. It was built by King Ed- 
ward I as a royal residence from which to direct his 
operations against the Welsh, which finally resulted 
in the conquest of that people by the English in- 
vaders. In a little dungeonlike room, tradition de- 
clares that Edward II, first Prince of Wales, was 
born. This is vigorously insisted upon in the local 
guide-book as an actual historic fact, although it is 
quite as vigorously disputed by numerous antiquar- 
ians, uninfluenced by Carnarvon's interests. The 
castle is now the property of the town and is well 
looked after. A rumor was rife about the time of 

1S3 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

our visit that Edward VII had acquired the castle 
and would rebuild it, without altering its old-time 
exterior, making it one of the royal residences. 

Leaving Carnarvon, our next objective was Con- 
way, whose castle is hardly less famous and even 
more picturesque than that of its neighbor, though 
in more ruinous condition. The road we followed 
closely skirted the coast for a great part of the dis- 
tance, running at times on the verge of the ocean. 
In places it reminds one of the Axenstrasse of Lake 
Lucerne, being cut in the side of the cliffs over- 
hanging the sea, with here and there great masses 
of rock projecting over it; and it passes occasionally 
through a tunnel cut in the stone. A few miles 
north of Carnarvon we passed through Bangor, one 
of the most prosperous-looking towns in North 
Wales and the seat of one of the few Welsh cathe- 
drals. It is the least imposing of the British cathe- 
drals — a long, low, though not unpleasing, building. 
The site of this cathedral had been continuously 
occupied by a church since the Sixth Century, al- 
though the present structure dates from the 
Thirteenth. 

An hour's run after leaving Bangor brought us in 
sight of the towers of Conway Castle. Nowhere in 
Britain does the spirit of mediaevalism linger as it 
does in the ancient town of Conway. Jt is still sur- 
rounded by its old wall with twenty-one watch- 

134 



THROUGH BEAUTIFUL WALES 

towers and the three gateways originally leading into 
the place have been recently restored. The castle 
stands on the verge of a precipitous rock and its 
outer walls are continuous with those of the town. 
It is a perfect specimen of a Thirteenth Century 
military fortress, with walls of enormous thickness, 
flanked by eight huge, circular towers. It was built 
by Edward I in 1284. Several times it was be- 
sieged by the Welsh and on one occasion came near 
falling into their hands while the king himself was 
in the castle. It was besieged during the Parlia- 
mentary wars, but for some unaccountable reason 
it was not destroyed or seriously damaged when 
captured. Its present dilapidated state is due to the 
action of its owner. Lord Conway, shortly after, in 
dismantling it to sell the lead and timber of the 
building, and it was permitted to fall into gradual 
decay. The castle, with its eight towers and 
bridge, which matches it in general style and which 
was built about fifty years ago, is one of the best 
known objects in the whole Kingdom. It has been 
made familiar to everybody through innumerable 
photographs and pictures. 

When we drew our car up in front of the castle 
it was in gala attire and was the scene of activity 
which we were at a loss to account for. We soon 
learned that the Wesleyans, or Welsh Methodists, 
were holding a festival in the castle, and the shilling 

135 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

we paid for admission included a nicely served 
lunch, of which the Welsh strawberries were the 
principal feature. One of the ladies told us that a 
"strawberry festival" was being held to celebrate 
the arrival of this delicious fruit upon the market, and 
no doubt incidentally to add to the funds of the 
church. The occasion was enlivened by music from 
the local band and songs by young girls in the old 
Welsh costume. This led us to ask if the Welsh 
language were in common use among the people. 
We were told that while the older people can speak 
it, it does not find much favor among the younger 
generation, some of whom are almost ashamed to 
admit knowledge of the old tongue. English was 
spoken everywhere among the people at the gather- 
ing, and the only Welsh heard was in some of the 
songs by the girls. We wandered about the ruin 
and ascended the towers, which afford a fine view 
of the town and the river. There seems to have 
been little done in the way of restoration, but so 
massive are the walls that they have splendidly stood 
the ravages of time. 

On leaving Conway we crossed the suspension 
bridge, paying a goodly toll for the privilege. It was 
already growing late when we left the town, but the 
fine level road and the unusually willing spirit 
evinced by our motor enabled us to cover the fifty 
miles to Chester before night set in. 

136 



IX 

CHESTER TO "THE HIELANDS" 

Chester stands a return visit well, and so does the 
spacious and hospitable Grosvenor Hotel. It was 
nearly dark when we reached the city and the hotel 
was crowded, the season now being at its height. 
We had neglected to wire for reservation, but our 
former. stop at the hotel was not forgotten and this 
stood us in good stead in securing accommodations. 
So comfortably were we established that we did not 
take the car out of the garage the next day but spent 
our time in leisurely re-visiting some of the places that 
had pleased us most. 

The next day we were early away for the north. 
I think that no other stretch of road of equal length 
was more positively unattractive than that we fol- 
lowed from Chester to Penrith. Even the road- 
book, whose "objects of interest" were in some cases 
doubtful, to say the least, could name only the bat- 
tlefield of 1648 near Preston and one or two minor 
"objects" in a distance of one hundred miles. I re- 
called the comment of the Touring Secretary of the 
Motor Union as he rapidly drew his pencil through 
this road as shown on the map: "Bad road, rough 
pavement, houses for thirty miles at a stretch right 

187 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

on each side of the street, crowds of children every- 
where — but you cannot get away from it very well." 
All of which we verified by personal experience. 

At starting it seemed easy to reach Carlisle for 
the night, but progress was slow and we met an un- 
expected delay at Warrington, twenty miles north 
of Chester. A policeman courteously notified us 
that the main street of the city would be closed three 
hours for a Sunday School parade. We had arrived 
five minutes too late to get across the bridge and out 
of the way. We expressed our disgust at the situ- 
ation and the officer made the conciliatory suggestion 
that we might be able to go on anyway. He 
doubted if the city had any authority to close the 
main street, one of the King's highways, on account 
of such a procession. We hardly considered our 
rights so seriously infringed as to demand such a 
remedy, and we turned into the stable-yard of a 
nearby hotel to wait until the streets were clear. In 
the meantime we joined the crowd that watched the 
parade. The main procession, of five or six thous- 
and children, was made up of Sunday Schools of the 
Protestant churches — the Church of England and 
the "Non-Conformists." The Catholics, whose re- 
lations in England with Protestants are strained to 
a much greater extent than in the United States, did 
not join, but formed a smaller procession in one of 
the side streets. The parade was brilliant with flags 

188 



CHESTER TO "THE HIELANDS" 

and with huge banners bearing portraits of the King 
and Queen, though some bore the names and em- 
blems of the different schools. One small fellow 
proudly flourished the Stars and Stripes, which was 
the only foreign flag among the thousands in the 
procession. In this connection I might remark that 
one sees the American flag over here far oftener than 
he would when traveling in America. Perhaps this 
display does not mean especial love for the flag so 
much as respect for the dollars which the Americans 
bring with them. However, notwithstanding the 
natural tendency to question motives, we found 
nothing but the kindest and most cordial feeling 
toward Americans everywhere; and the very fact 
that we were Americans secured us special privi- 
leges in not a few cases. 

After the procession had crossed the bridge, a 
policeman informed us that we could proceed. We 
gained considerable time by making a detour 
through side streets — not an altogether easy per- 
formance — and after much inquiry regained the main 
road leading out of the city. Warrington is a city 
of more than one hundred and twenty thousand in- 
habitants, a manufacturing place with nothing to de- 
tain the tourist. On the main street near the river 
is a fine bronze statue of Oliver Cromwefl, one of 
four that I saw erected to the memory of the Pro- 
tector in England. The road from Warrington led 

189 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

through Wigan and Preston, manufacturing cities 
of nearly one hundred thousand each, and the 
suburbs of the three are almost continuous. Tram 
cars were numerous and children played everywhere 
with utter unconcern for the vehicles which crowded 
the streets. 

When we came to Lancaster we were glad to 
stop, although our day's journey had covered only 
sixty miles. We knew very little of Lancaster and 
resorted to the guide-books for something of its an- 
tecedents, only to learn the discouraging fact that 
here, as everywhere, the Romans had been ahead of 
us. The town has a history reaching back to the 
Roman occupation, but its landmarks have been 
largely obliterated in the manufacturing center which 
it has become. The product for which it is most 
famous is linoleum, and one of the makers of this 
necessary though plebeian commodity had been 
honored by elevation to the Peerage but a few days 
before our visit. One of our English friends assured 
us that the newly created lord was half a million 
pounds poorer on account of the honor thrust upon 
him. They tell us that there is no graft in England, 
so we received the statement with unquestioning 
faith that the enormous sum must have been devoted 
to charity of some kind. Charles Dickens was a 
guest at Lancaster, and in recording his impressions 
he declared it "a pleasant place, dropped in the 

140 



CHESTER TO "THE HIELANDS" 

midst of a charming landscape; a place with a fine, 
ancient fragment of a castle; a place of lovely walks 
and possessing many staid old houses, richly fitted 
with Honduras mahogany," and followed with other 
reflections not so complimentary concerning the in- 
dustrial slavery which prevailed in the city a genera- 
tion or two ago. The "fine, ancient fragment of a 
castle" has been built into the modern structure 
which now serves as the seat of the county court. 
The square tower of the Norman keep is included 
in the building. This in general style and archi- 
tecture conforms to the old castle, which, excepting 
the fragment mentioned by Dickens, has long since 
vanished. Near at hand is St. Mary's Church, 
rivaling in size and dignity many of the cathedrals, 
and its massive, buttressed walls and tall, graceful 
spire do justice to its magnificent site. From the 
eminence occupied by the church the Irish Sea is 
plainly visible, and in the distance the almost trop- 
ical Isle of Man rises abruptly out of the blue waters. 

The monotony of our previous day's travel was 
forgotten in lively anticipation as we proceeded at 
what seemed a snail's pace over the fine road leading 
from Penrith to Carlisle. We had been warned at 
Penrith, not against the bold highwaymen, the bor- 
der moss-troopers or the ranting Highlandmen of 
song and story, but against a plain. Twentieth 
Century police trap which was being worked very 

141 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

successfully along this road. Such was our approach 
in these degenerate days to "Merrie Carlile," which 
figured so largely in the endless border warfare be- 
tween the Scotch and English. But why the town 
should have been famed as "Merrie Carlile" would 
be hard to say, unless more than a thousand years 
of turmoil, bloodshed and almost ceaseless warfare 
through which it passed earned it the cheerful ap- 
pellation. The trouble between the English and the 
Welsh ended early, but it has been only a century 
and a half ago since the closing scene of the long and 
bitter conflict between the north , and south was 
enacted in Carlisle. Its grim old castle was the 
scene of the imprisonment and execution of the last 
devoted followers of Prince Charlie, and according 
to Scott's Waverly the dashing but sadly deluded 
young chieftain, Fergus Mclvor, was one of those 
who suffered a shameful death. As we had previous- 
ly visited Carlisle, our stay was a short one, but its 
remarkable history, its connection with the stories of 
Walter Scott, its atmosphere of romance and legend 
and the numerous points of interest within easy 
reach — all combine to make it a center where one 
might spend several days. The Romans had been 
here also, and they, too, had struggled with the wild 
tribes on the north, and from that time down to the 
execution of the last adherents of the Stuarts in 1 759 
the town was hardly at any time in a state of 

142 



CHESTER TO "THE HIELANDS" 

quietude. As described by an observant writer, 
"every man became a soldier and every house that 
was not a mere peasant's hut was a fortress." A 
local poet of the Seventeenth Century summed it up 
in a terse if not elegant couplet as his unqualified 
opinion 

"That whoso then in the border did dwell 
Lived little happier than those in hell." 

But Carlisle is peaceful and quiet enough at the 
present time, a place of considerable size and with 
a thriving commerce. Its castle, a plain and unim- 
pressive structure, still almost intact, has been con- 
verted into a military barracks, and its cathedral, 
which, according to an old chronicle, in 1634 "im- 
pressed three observant strangers as a great wild 
country church," has not been greatly altered in 
appearance since that period. It suffered severely 
at the hands of the Parliamentary soldiers, who 
tore down a portion of the nave to use the materials 
in strengthening the defenses of the town. But the 
story of Carlisle could not be told in many volumes. 
If the mere hint of its great interest which I have 
given here can induce any fellow tourist to tarry a 
little longer at "Merrie Carlile," it will be enough. 

Leaving Carlisle, we crossed "Solway Tide" and 
found ourselves in the land of bluebells and heather, 
the "Bonnie Scotland" of Robert Burns. Shortly 
after crossing the river, a sign-board pointed the way 

143 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

to Gretna Green, that old-time haven of eloping 
lovers, who used to cross the Sol way just as the tide 
began to rise, and before it subsided there was little 
for the paternal ancestors to do but forgive and make 
the best of it. But we missed the village, for it was 
a mile or two off the road to Dumfries, which we 
hoped to reach for the night. An unexpected diffi- 
culty with the car nearly put this out of the range 
of possibility, but by grace of the long Scotch twi- 
light, we came into Dumfries about ten o'clock 
without finding it necessary to light our lamps. Our 
day's journey had been a tiresome one, and we 
counted ourselves fortunate on being directed to the 
Station Hotel, which was as comfortable and well 
managed as any we found. The average railway 
hotel in America is anything but an attractive prop- 
osition, but in Scotland and in England conditions 
are almost reversed, the station hotels under the 
control of the different railway companies being 
generally the best in the town. 

We had been attracted to Dumfries chiefly 
because of its associations with Robert Burns, who 
spent the last years of his life in the town or in its 
immediate vicinity. Our first pilgrimage was to the 
poet's tomb, in St. Michael's churchyard. A splen- 
did memorial marks the place, but a visit to the 
small dingy house a few yards distant in which he 
died painfully reminded us of his last years of dis- 

144 



CHESTER TO "THE HIELANDS" 

tress and absolute want. Within easy reach of 
Dumfries lie many points of interest, but as our time 
permitted us to see only one of these, we selected 
Caerlaverock Castle, the Ellangowan of Scott's 
"Guy Mannering," lying about ten miles to the 
south. In location and style of construction it is one 
of the most remarkable of the Scotch ruins. It 
stands in an almost level country near the coast and 
must have depended for defense on its enormously 
thick walls and the great double moat which sur- 
rounded it rather than the strength of its position. 
The castle is built of dark-brown stone, and the 
walls, rising directly from the waters of the moat and 
covered with masses of ivy, are picturesque, though 
in a sad state of disrepair. Bits of artistic carving 
and beautiful windows showed that it was a palace 
as well as a fortress, though it seemed strange that 
the builder should select such a site. In common 
with most British castles, it was finally destroyed 
by Cromwell, and the custodian showed us a pile of 
cannon balls which he had gathered in the vicinity. 
On one of the stones of the inner wall were the 
initials, "R. B.,'* and the date, "1776," which our 
guide assured us were cut by Robert Burns; and 
there are certain peculiarities about the monogram 
which leave little doubt that it was the work of the 
poet. From the battlements of the castle the old 

man pointed to a distant hill, where, he told us, the 

145 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

home of the Carlyles had been for many years and 
where Thomas Carlyle, who was born at Ecclefe- 
chan, lies buried. Within a few miles of Dumfries 
is EUisIand Farm, where Robert Burns was a tenant 
for several years, and many of his most famous poems 
were written during that period. And besides, there 
were old abbeys and castles galore within easy 
reach; and glad indeed we should have been had 
we been able to make the Station Hotel our head- 
quarters for a week and devote our time to explor- 
ing. But we were already behind schedule and the 
afternoon found us on the road to Ayr. 

A little more than half the distance from Dumfries 
to Ayr the road runs through the Nith Valley, with 
river and forest scenery so charming as to remind 
us of the Wye. The highway is a splendid one, 
with fine surface and easy grades. It passes through 
a historic country, and the journey would consume 
a long time if one should pause at every point that 
might well repay a visit. A mile on the way is 
Lincluden Abbey, in whose seclusion Burns wrote 
many of his poems, the most famous of which, "The 
Vision of Liberty," begins with a reference to the 
ruin: 

"As I stood by yon roofless tower 

Where wall flowers scent the dewy air. 
Where the owlet lone in her ivy bower. 
Tells to the midnight moon her care." 
146 



CHESTER TO "THE HIELANDS" 

EUisIand Farm is only a few miles farther on the 
road, never to be forgotten as the spot where "Tam- 
O'-Shanter" was written. Many old castles and 
magnificent mansions crown the heights overlooking 
the river, but we caught only distant glimpses of 
some of them, surrounded as they were by immense 
parks, closed to the public. Every one of the older 
places underwent many and strange vicissitudes in 
the long years of border warfare, and of them all, 
Drumlanrigh Castle, founded in 1689, is perhaps 
the most imposing. For ten years its builder, the 
first Earl of Queensbury, labored on the structure, 
only to pass a single night in the completed building, 
never to revisit it, and he ended his days grieving 
over the fabulous fortune he had squandered on this 
many-towered pile of gray stone. 

We may not loiter along the Nithdale road, rich 
as it is in traditions and relics of the past. Our 
progress through such a beautiful country had been 
slow at the best, and a circular sign-board, bearing 
the admonition, "Ten Miles Per Hour," posted at 
each of the numerous villages on the way, was ari- 
other deterrent upon undue haste. The impression 
that lingers with us of these small Scotch villages is 
not a pleasant one. Rows of low, gray-stone, slate- 
roofed cottages straggling along a single street — 
generally narrow and crooked and extending for 
distances depending on the size of the place — made 

147 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

up the average village. Utterly unrelieved by the 
artistic touches of the English cottages and without 
the bright dashes of color from flowers and vines, 
with square, harsh lines and drab coloring every- 
where, these Scotch villages seemed bleak and com- 
fortless. Many of them we passed through on this 
road, among them Sandquhar, with its castle, once 
a strong and lordly fortress but now in a deplorable 
state of neglect and decay, and Mauchline, where 
Burns farmed and sang before he removed to Dum- 
fries. It was like passing into another country when 
we entered Ayr, which, despite its age and the 
hoary traditions which cluster around it, is an up- 
to-date appearing seaport of about thirty thousand 
people. It is a thriving business town with an un- 
usually good electric street-car system, fine hotels 
and (not to be forgotten by motorists) excellent 
garages and repair shops. 

Ayr is one of the objective points of nearly every 
tourist who enters Scotland. Its associations with 
Burns, his birthplace. Kirk Alloway, his monument, 
the "twa brigs," the "Brig O' Doon," and the num- 
erous other places connected with his memory in 
Ayr and its vicinity, need not be dwelt on here. An 
endless array of guide-books and other volumes will 
give more information than the tourist can absorb 
and his motor car will enable him to rapidly visit 
such places as he may choose. It will be of little 

X48 



CHESTER TO "THE HIELANDS" 

encumbrance to him, for he may leave the car stand- 
ing at the side of the street while he makes a tour 
of the haunts of Burns at Alloway or elsewhere. 

It was a gloomy day when we left Ayr over the 
fine highway leading to Glasgow, but before we had 
gone very far it began to rain steadily. We passed 
through Kilmarnock, the largest city in Ayrshire. 
Here a splendid memorial to Burns has been erected, 
and connected with it is a museum of relics associ- 
ated with the poet, as well as copies of various 
editions of his works. This reminds one that the 
first volume of poems by Burns was published at 
Kilmarnock, and in the cottage at Ayr we saw one 
of the three existing copies, which had been pur- 
chased for the collection at an even thousand pounds.^ 

We threaded our way carefully through Glasgow, 
for the rain, which was coming down heavily, made 
the streets very slippery, and our car showed more 
or less tendency to the dangerous "skid." Owing 
to former visits to the city, we did not pause in 
Glasgow, though the fact is that no other large city 
in Britain has less to interest the tourist. It is a great 
commercial city, having gained in the last one hun- 
dred years three quarters of a million inhabitants. Its 
public buildings, churches, and other show-places 
— excepting the cathedral — lack the charm of 
antiquity. After striking the Dumbarton road, exit 
from the city was easy, and for a considerable dis- 

149 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

tance we passed near the Clyde shipyards, the 
greatest in the world, where many of the largest 
merchant and war vessels have been constructed. 
Just as we entered Dumbarton, whose castle loomed 
high on a rocky island opposite the town, the rain 
ceased and the sky cleared with that changeful 
rapidity we noticed so often in Britain. Certainly 
we were fortunate in having fine weather for the re- 
mainder of the day, during which we passed perhaps 
as varied and picturesque scenery as we found on 
our journey. We hastened rapidly through many 
suburban towns near Glasgow, among them Alex- 
andria, where the magnitude of the motor industry 
in Britain was impressed upon us by the splendid 
new factory of Argyll Ltd., a vast, brown-stone, 
gold-towered structure covering many acres. 

For the next thirty miles the road closely followed 
the west shore of Loch Lomond, and for the larger 
part of the way we had a magnificent panorama of 
the lake and the numberless green islands that rose 
out of its silvery waters. Our view in places was 
cut off by the fine country estates that lay immedi- 
ately on the shores of the lake, but the grounds, rich 
with shrubbery and bright with flowers, were hardly 
less pleasing than the lake itself. These prevailed 
at the southern portion of the lake only, and for at 
least twenty miles the road closely followed the 
shore, leading around short turns on the very edges 

160 



CHESTER TO "THE HIELANDS" 

of steep embankments or over an occasional sharp 
hill — conditions that made careful driving necessary. 
Just across the lake, which gradually grew narrower 
as we went north, lay the low Scotch mountains, 
their green outlines subdued by a soft blue haze, but 
forming a striking background to the ever-varying 
scenery of the lake and opposite shore. Near the 
northern end on the farther side is the entrance to 
the Trosachs, made famous by Scott's "Lady of 
the Lake." The roads to this region are closed to 
motors — the only instance that I remember where 
public highways were thus interdicted. The lake 
finally dwindled to a brawling mountain stream, 
which we followed for several miles to Crianlarich, 
a rude little village nestling at the foot of the rugged 
hills. From here we ran due west to Oban, and for 
twenty miles of the distance the road was the worst 
we saw in Scotland, being rough and covered with 
loose, sharp stones that were ruinous to tires. It 
ran through a bleak, unattractive country almost de- 
void of habitations and with little sign of life except- 
ing the flocks of sheep grazing on the short grasses 
that covered the steep, stony hillsides. The latter 
half of the distance the surroundings are widely 
different, an excellent though winding and narrow 
road leading us through some of the finest scenes of 
the Highlands. Especially pleasing was the ten-mile 
jaunt along the north shore of Loch Awe, with the 

151 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

glimpses of Kilchum Castle which we caught 
through occasional openings in the thickly clustered 
trees on the shore. Few ruins are more charmingly 
situated than Kilchurn, standing as it does on a 
small island rising out of the clear waters — the 
crumbling walls overgrown with ivy and wall- 
flowers. The last fifteen miles were covered in 
record time for us, for it was growing exceedingly 
chilly as the night began to fall and the Scotch July 
day was as fresh and sharp as an American October. 
Oban is one of the most charming of the north 
of Scotland resort towns and is becoming one of the 
most popular. It is situated on a little land-locked 
bay, generally white in summer time with the sails 
of pleasure vessels. Directly fronting the town, just 
across the harbor, are several ranges of hills fading 
away into the blue mists of the distance and forming, 
together with the varying moods of sky and water, 
a delightful picture. Overhanging the town from 
the east is the scanty ruin of DunoUie Castle, little 
but a shapeless pile of stone covered over with masses 
of ivy. Viewed from the harbor, the town presents 
a striking picture, and the most remarkable feature 
is the great colosseum on the hill. This is known 
as McCaig's Tower and was built by an eccentric 
citizen some years ago merely to give employment 
to his fellow townsmen. One cannot get an ade- 
quate idea of the real magnitude of the structure 

152 



CHESTER TO "THE HIELANDS" 

without climbing the steep hill and viewing it from 
the inside. It is a circular tower, pierced by two 
rows of windows, and is not less than three hundred 
feet in diameter, the wall ranging in height from 
thirty to seventy-five feet from the ground. It lends 
a most striking and unusual appearance to the town, 
but among the natives it goes by the name of "Mc- 
Caig's Folly." 

From Oban as a center, numberless excursions 
may be made to old castles, lakes of surpassing 
beauty and places of ancient and curious history. 
None of the latter are more famous than the island 
of lona, lying about thirty-five miles distant and ac- 
cessible by steamer two or three days of each week 
in summer time. We never regretted that we 
abandoned the car a day for the trip to this quaint 
spot and its small sister island, Staffa, famed for its 
great cave and curious natural columns formed by 
volcanic action. The round trip covers a distance 
of about seventy-five miles and occupies eight or ten 
hours. lona is a very small island, with a population 
of only fifty people, but it was a place of importance 
in the early religious history of Scotland ; and its odd 
little cathedral, which is now in ruins — except the 
nave, but recently restored — was originally built in 
the Eleventh Century. Weird and strange indeed 
is the array of memorials rudely cut from Scotch 
granite that mark the resting places of the chiefs of 

153 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

many forgotten clans, while a much higher degree of 
art is shown in the regular and even delicate designs 
traced on the numerous old crosses still standing, 
lona has been sacred ground since the landing of 
St. Columba in 563, and its fame even extended to 
Sweden and Denmark, whose kings at one time were 
brought here for interment. We were fortunate in 
having a fine day, the sky being clear and the sea 
perfectly smooth. We were thus enabled to make 
landing at both isles, a thing that is often impossible 
on account of the weather. This circular trip — for 
the return is made by the Sound of Mull — is a re- 
markably beautiful one, the steamer winding in and 
out through the straits among the islands and be- 
tween shores wild and broken, though always 
picturesque and often impressive. Many of the hills 
were crowned with ruined fortresses and occasionally 
an imposing modern summer residence was to be 
seen. Competent judges declare that provided the 
weather is fine no more delightful short excursion 
by steamer can be made on the British coast than the 
one just described. 

Three miles from Oban lies Dunstafnage Castle, 
a royal residence of the Pictish kings, bearing the 
marks of extreme antiquity. It occupies a command- 
ing position on a point of land extending far into the 
sea and almost surrounded by water at high tide. 
We visited it in the fading twilight, and a lonlier, 

154 



CHESTER TO "THE HIELANDS" 

more ghostly place it would be hard to imagine. 
From this old castle was taken the stone of destiny 
upon which the Pictish kings were crowned, but 
which is now the support of the coronation chair in 
Westminster Abbey. A place so rich in romantic 
legend could not escape the Wizard of the North, 
and the story of Dunstafnage Castle is woven into 
"The Lord of the Isles." 

Oban is modern, a place of many and excellent 
hotels fronting on the bay. So far, only a small per 
cent of its visitors are Americans, and the indifferent 
roads leading to the town discourage the motorist. 
Had we adhered to the route outlined for us by the 
Motor Union Secretary, we should have missed it 
altogether. We had made a stop in the town two 
years before, and yet there are few places in Britain 
that we would rather visit a third time than Oban. 



155 



X 

THROUGH HISTORIC SCOTLAND 

The north of Scotland is rapidly becoming little 
more than a pleasure-ground for the people of the 
Kingdom, and its attractions are yearly drawing a 
larger number of Americans. There are practically 
no European visitors, but that is largely true of the 
entire Kingdom. The people of the Continent con- 
sider Britain a chilly, unattractive land. Its histor- 
ical and literary traditions, so dear to the average 
American, who holds a common language, do not 
appeal to those who think their own countries 
superior to any other in these particulars. 

It is only a natural consequence that Scotland, 
outside of the three or four largest cities, is becom- 
ing, like Switzerland, a nation of hotelkeepers — 
and very excellent ones they are. The Scotch hotels 
average as good as any in the world. One finds 
them everywhere in the Highlands. Every lake, 
every ruin frequented by tourists has its hotel, many 
of them fine structures of native granite, substantially 
built and splendidly furnished. 

We left Oban over the route by which we came, 
since no other was recommended to motorists. Our 

166 



THROUGH HISTORIC SCOTLAND 

original plan to follow the Caledonian Canal to In-' 
verness was abandoned on account of difficult roads 
and numerous ferries with poor and infrequent ser- 
vice. After waiting three hours to get an "accumu- 
lator" which had been turned over to a local repair 
man thirty-six hours before with instructions to have 
it charged and returned promptly, we finally suc- 
ceeded in getting off. This delay is an example of 
those which we encountered again and again from 
failure to get prompt service, especially when we 
were making an effort to get away before ten or 
eleven in the morning. 

It was no hardship to follow more leisurely than 
before the road past Loch Awe with its sheet of 
limpid water rippling around Kilchurn Castle under 
the cloudless, noonday sky. A little farther on, at 
Dalmally, we paused at a pleasant old country hotel, 
where the delicious Scotch strawberries were served 
fresh from the garden. It was a quaint, clean, 
quiet place, and the landlord told us that aside from 
the old castles and fine scenery in its vicinity, its 
chief attraction to guests was trout-fishing in 
neighboring streams. We were two days in pass- 
ing through the heart of the Highlands from Oban 
to Inverness over about two hundred miles of ex- 
cellent road running through wild and often beauti- 
ful scenery, but there were few historic spots as 
compared with the coast country. The road usually 

157 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

followed the edges of the hills, often with a lake or 
mountain stream on one hand. From Crianlarich 
we followed the sparkling Dochart until we reached 
the shore of Loch Tay, about twenty miles distant. 
From the mountainside we had an unobstructed 
view of this narrow but lovely lake, lying for a dis- 
tance of twenty miles between ridges of sharply ris- 
ing hills. White, low-hung clouds half hid the 
mountains on the opposite side of the loch, giving 
the delightful effect of light and shadow for which 
the Scotch Highlands are famous and which the 
pictures of Watson, Graham and Farquhar have 
made familiar to nearly everyone. 

At the northern end of the lake we caught distant 
glimpses of the battlemented towers of Taymouth 
Castle, home of the Marquis of Breadalbane, 
which, though modern, is one of the most imposing 
of the Scotch country seats. If the castle itself is 
imposing, what shall we say of the estate, extending 
as it does westward to the Sound of Mull, a distance 
of one hundred miles — a striking example of the in- 
equalities of the feudal system. Just before we 
crossed the bridge over the Tay River near the out- 
let of the lake, we noticed a gray old mansion with 
many Gothic towers and gables, Grandtully Castle, 
made famous by Scott as the Tully-Veolan of 
Waverly. Near by is Kinniard House, where 
Robert Louis Stevenson wrote "Treasure Island." 

158 



THROUGH HISTORIC SCOTLAND 

A few miles farther on we came to Pitlochry, a 
surprisingly well built resort with excellent hotels 
and a mammoth "Hydropathic" that dominated the 
place from a high hill. The town is situated in the 
very center of the Highlands, surrounded by hills 
that supply the gray granite used in its construction; 
and here we broke our journey for the night. 

Our way to Inverness was through a sparsely in- 
habited, wildly broken country, with half a dozen 
mean-looking villages at considerable distances from 
each other and an occasional hut or wayside inn be- 
tween. Although it was July and quite warm for 
the north of Scotland, the snow still lingered on 
many of the low mountains, and in some places it 
seemed that we might reach it by a few minutes* 
walk. There was little along the road to remind 
one of the stirring times or the plaided and kilted 
Highlander that Scott has led us to associate with 
this country. We saw one old man, the keeper of 
a little solitary inn in the very heart of the hills, ar- 
rayed in the full glory of the old-time garb — plaid, 
tartan, sporran and skene-dhu, all set off by the 
plumed Glengarry cap — a picturesque old fellow 
indeed. And we met farther on the way a dirty- 
looking youth with his bagpipes slung over his 
shoulder — in dilapidated modern garb he was any- 
thing but a fit descendant of the minstrels whose 
fame has come down to us in song and story. Still, 

159 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

he was glad to play for us, and despite his general 
resemblance to an every-day American tramp, it 
was something to have heard the skirl of the bag- 
pipe in the Pass of Killiekrankie. And after all, 
the hills, the vales and the lochs were there, and 
everyw^here on the low^ green mountains grazed end- 
less flocks of sheep. They lay leisurely in the road- 
way or often trotted unconcernedly in front of the 
car, occasioning at times a speed limit even more un- 
satisfactory than that imposed in the more populous 
centers by the police traps. Incidentally we learned 
that the finest sheep in the world — and vast numbers 
of them — are produced in Great Britain. When 
we compare them with the class of animals raised 
in America it is easy to see why our wool and 
mutton average so greatly inferior. 

A clean, quiet, charming city is Inverness, "the 
capital of the Highlands," as the guide-books have 
it. It is situated on both shores of its broad, spark- 
ling river — so shallow that the small boys with 
turned-up pantaloons wade across it in summer time 
— while an arm of the sea defines the boundary on 
the northeast. Though tradition has it that Mac- 
beth built a castle on the site of the present structure, 
it disappeared centuries ago, and there is now little 
evidence of antiquity to be found in the town. The 
modern castle is a massive, rambling, brown-stone 
building less than a hundred years old, now serving 

160 




IN THE SCOTTISH HIGHLANDS. 
Fi-om painting- by D Slierrin. 



THROUGH HISTORIC SCOTLAND 

as a county court. The cathedral is recent, having 
been completed in the last quarter of a century. It 
is an imposing church of red stone, the great en- 
trance being flanked by low, square-topped towers. 
As a center for tourists, Inverness is increasingly 
popular and motor cars are very common. The 
roads of the surrounding country are generally ex- 
cellent, and a trip of two hundred miles will take 
one to John O'Groats, the extreme northern point 
of Scotland. The country around has many spots 
of interest. Cawdor Castle, where tradition says 
Macbeth murdered Duncan, is on the Nairn road, 
and on the way to this one may also visit CuUoden 
Moor, a grim, shelterless waste, where the adherents 
of Prince Charlie were defeated April 1 6th, 1 746. 
This was the last battle fought on British soil, and 
the site is marked by a rude round tower built from 
stones gathered from the battlefield. 

From Inverness an unsurpassed highway leads to 
Aberdeen, a distance of a little over one hundred 
miles. It passes through a beautiful country, the 
northeastern Scottish Lowlands, which looked as 
prosperous and productive as any section we saw. 
It was haymaking time, and the harvest was far 
enough advanced to indicate a bountiful yield. The 
smaller towns appeared much better than the aver- 
age we had so far seen in Scotland; Nairn, Huntly, 
Forres, Keith and Elgin more resembling the better 

161 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

English towns of similar size thein Scotch towns 
which we had previously passed through. At El- 
gin are the ruins of its once splendid cathedral, 
which in its best days easily ranked as the largest and 
most imposing church ever built in Scotland. Time 
has dealt hardly with it, cind the shattered fragments 
which remain are only enough to confirm the story of 
its magnificence. Fire and vandals who tore the 
lead from the roof for loot having done their worst, 
the cathedral served the unsentimental Scots of the 
vicinity as a stone-quarry until recent years, but it is 
now owned by the crown and every precaution is 
taken to arrest further decay. 

The skies were lowering when we left Inverness 
and the latter half of the jouney was made in the 
hardest rainstorm we encountered on our tour. We 
could not see ten yards ahead of us and the water 
poured down the hills in torrents, yet our car ran 
smoothly on, the fine macadam roads being little 
affected by the deluge. The heavy rain ceased by 
the time we reached Inverurie, about fifteen miles 
from Aberdeen. It was a bedraggled-looking little 
town, closely following a winding street, but the 
view from the high bridge which we crossed just 
on leaving the place made full amends for the general 
ugliness of the village. 

It would be hard to find anywhere a more beauti- 
ful city than Aberdeen, wath her clean, massively 

162 



THROUGH HISTORIC SCOTLAND 

built structures of native gray granite, thickly sprin- 
kled with mica facets that make it fairly glitter in the 
sunlight. Everything seems to have been planned by 
the architect to produce the most pleasing effect, and 
careful note must have been taken of surroundings 
and location in fitting many of the public buildings 
into their niches. We saw few more imposing 
structures in Britain than the new postofiice at Aber- 
deen, and it was typical of the solidity and architec- 
tural magnificence of the Queen City of the North. 
But Aberdeen will be on the route of any tourist 
who goes to Northern Scotland, so I will not write of 
it here. It is a great motoring center, with finely built 
and well equipped garages. 

As originally planned we were to go southward 
from Aberdeen by the way of Braemar and Bal- 
moral in the very heart of the Highland country — 
the route usually followed by British motorists. It 
passes through wild scenery, but the country has few 
historical attractions. The Motor Union represent- 
ative had remarked that we should probably want to 
spend several days a Braemar, famous for its scenic 
surroundings — the wild and picturesque dales, lakes 
and hills near at hand; but to Americans, from the 
country of the Yellowstone and Yosemite, the scen- 
ery of Scotland was only an incident in our tour. 
From this consideration, we preferred to take the 
coast road southward, which, though it passes 

163 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

through a comparatively tame-looking country, is 
thickly strewn with places replete with stirring and 
romantic incidents of Scottish history. Nor had we 
any cause to regret our choice. 

Fifteen miles south of Aberdeen we came in sight 
of Dunnotter Castle, lying about two miles from the 
highway. We left the car by the roadside and fol- 
lowed the footpath through the fields. The ruin 
stands on a high, precipitous headland projecting far 
out into the ocean and cut off from the land side by 
a deep, irregular ravine, and the descent and ascent 
of the almost perpendicular sides was anything but 
an easy task. A single winding footpath led to the 
grim old gateway, and we rang the bell many times 
before the custodian admitted us. Inside the gate 
the steep ascent continued through a rude, tunnellike 
passageway, its sides for a distance of one hundred 
feet or more pierced with many an embrasure for 
archers or musketeers. Emerging from this we came 
into the castle court, the center of the small plateau 
on the summit of the rock. Around us rose the 
broken, straggling walls, bare and bleak, without a 
shred of ivy or wall-flower to hide their grim naked- 
ness. The place was typical of a rude, semi-bar- 
barous age, an age of rapine, murder and ferocious 
cruelty, and its story is as terrific as one would antici- 
pate from its forbidding aspect. Here it was the 
wont of robber barons to retire with their prisoners 

164 



THROUGH HISTORIC SCOTLAND 

and loot; and here, on account of its inaccessibility, 
state and political prisoners were confined from time 
to time. In the frightful "Whig's Vault," a semi- 
subterranean dungeon, one hundred and sixty cove- 
nanters — men and women — were for several months 
confined by orders of the infamous Claverhouse. 
A single tiny window looking out on the desolate 
ocean furnished the sole light and air for the great 
cavern, and the story of the suffering of the captives 
is too dreadful to tell here. The vault was ankle deep 
in mire and so crowded were the prisoners that no 
one could sit without leaning upon another. In des- 
peration and at great risk, a few attempted to escape 
from the window, whence they clambered down the 
precipitous rock; but most of them were re-taken, 
and after frightful tortures were thrown into a second 
dungeon underneath the first, where light and air 
were almost wholly excluded. Such was Scotland 
in the reign of Charles Stuart II, and such a story 
seemed in keeping with the vast, dismal old fortress. 

But Dunnotter, secluded and lonely as it was, did 
not escape the far-reaching arm of the Lord Pro- 
tector, and in 1 562 his cannon, planted on the height 
opposite the headland, soon brought the garrison to 
terms. It was known that the Scottish regalia — the 
crown believed to be the identical one worn by 
Bruce at his coronation, the jewelled scepter and the 
sword of state presented to James IV by the pope — 

165 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

had been taken for safety to Dunnotter, held in repute 
as the most impregnable stronghold in the North. 
The English maintained a close blockade by sea and 
land and were in strong hopes of securing the covet- 
ed relics. The story is that Mrs. Granger, the wife 
of a minister of a nearby village, who had been 
allowed by the English to visit the castle, on her de- 
parture carried the relics with her, concealed about 
her clothing. She passed through the English lines 
without interference, and the precious articles were 
safely disposed of by her husband, who buried them 
under the flagstones in his church at Kinneff, where 
they remained until the restoration of 1660. The 
English were intensely disappointed at the loss. The 
minister and his wife did not escape suspicion and 
were even subjected to torture, but they bravely re- 
fused to give information as to the whereabouts of 
the regalia. 

We wandered about, following our rheumatic old 
guide, who pointed out the different apartments to 
us and, in Scotch so broad that we had to follow him 
very closely, told us the story of the fortress. From 
the windows everywhere was the placid, shimmering 
summer sea, its surface broken into silvery ripples 
by the fresh morning wind, but it was left to the 
imagination to conceive the awful desolation of Dun- 
notter Castle on a gray and stormy day. The old 
man conducted us to the keep, and I looked over a 

166 



THROUGH HISTORIC SCOTLAND 

year's record in the visitors' book without finding a 
single American registered, and was more than ever 
impressed as to the manner in which the motor car 
will often bring the tourist from the States into a 
comparatively undiscovered country. The high 
tower of the keep, several hundred feet above the 
sea, afforded scope for a most magnificent outlook. 
One could get a full sweep of the bleak and sterile 
country through which we had passed, lying between 
Aberdeen and Stonehaven, and which Scott cele- 
brated as the Muir of Drumthwacket. It was with 
a feeling of relief that we passed out of the forbidding 
portals into the fresh air of the pleasant July day, 
leaving the old custodian richer by a few shillings, 
to wonder that the "American Invasion" had struck 
this secluded old fortress on the wild headland 
washed by the German Ocean. 

From Stonehaven we passed without special in- 
cident to Montrose, following an excellent but rather 
uninteresting road, though an occasional fishing- 
village and frequent view of the ocean broke the 
monotony of the flying miles. Montrose is an ancient 
town known to Americans chiefly through Scott's 
"Legend" — delightfully situated between the ocean 
and a great basin connected with the sea by a broad 
strait, over which a suspension bridge five hundred 
feet long carried us southward. I recall that it was 
at Montrose where an obliging garage man loaned 

167 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

me an "accumulator" — my batteries had been giv- 
ing trouble — scouting the idea of a deposit, and I 
gave him no more than my agreement to return his 
property when I reached Edinburgh. 

At Arbroath are the ruins of the most extensive 
of the Scotch abbeys, scanty indeed, but still enough 
to show its state and importance in the "days of 
faith." Here once reigned the good abbott cele- 
brated by Southey in his ballad of Ralph the Rover, 
familiar to every schoolboy. Ten miles off the coast 
is the reef where 
"The abbott of Aberbrothok 

Had placed a bell on the Inchcape rock. 

Like a buoy in the storm it floated and swung. 

And over the waves its warning rung." 
And where the pirate, out of pure malice, "To vex 
the abbott of Aberbrothok," cut the bell from its 
buoy only to be lost himself on the reef a year later. 
The abbey was founded by William the Lion in 
1 1 78, but war, fire and fanaticism have left it sadly 
fragmentary. Now it is the charge of the town, but 
the elements continue to war upon it and the brittle 
red sandstone of which it is built shows deeply the 
wear of the sea wind. 

Dundee, no longer the "Bonnie Dundee" of the 
old ballad, is a great straggling manufacturing city, 
whose ancient landmarks have been almost swept 
away. Its churches are modern, its one remaining 

168 



THROUGH HISTORIC SCOTLAND 

gateway of doubtful antiquity, and there is little in 
the city itself to detain the tourist. If its points of 
interest are too few to warrant a stay, its hotels — 
should "The Queens," given in the guide-book and 
locally reputed to be the best, really merit this dis- 
tinction — will hardly prove an attraction. It is a 
large, six-story building, fairly good-looking from the 
outside, but inside dirty and dilapidated, with ill- 
furnished and uncomfortable rooms. When we in- 
quired of the manageress as to what might be of 
especial interest in Dundee, she considered a while 
and finally suggested — the cemetery. From our 
hotel window we had a fine view of the broad est- 
uary of the Tay with its great bridge, said to be the 
longest in the world. It recalled the previous Tay 
bridge, which fell in a storm in 1 789, carrying down 
a train, from which not a single one of the seventy or 
more passengers escaped. Around Dundee is crowd- 
ed much of historic Scotland, and many excursions 
worth the while may be made from the city by those 
whose time permits. 

From Dundee an excellent road leads to Stirling 
by the way of Perth. There is no more beautiful 
section in Scotland than this, though its beauty is 
not the rugged scenery of the Highlands. Low hills, 
rising above the wooded valleys, with clear streams 
winding through them; unusually prosperous-looking 
farm-houses; and frequent historic ruins and places 

169 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

— all combine to make the forty or fifty miles a de- 
lightful drive. We did not pause at Perth, a city 
with a long line of traditions, nor at Dunblane, with 
its severely plain cathedral founded in 1 1 00 but re- 
cently restored. 

Stirling, the ancient capital, with its famous castle, 
its memories of early kings, of Wallace, Bruce and 
of Mary Stuart, and with its wonderfully beautiful 
and historic surroundings, is perhaps the most inter- 
esting town of Scotland. No one who pretends to 
see Scotland will miss it, and no motor tour worthy of 
the name could be planned that would not lead 
through the quaint old streets. From afar one 
catches a glimpse of the castle, perched, like that of 
Edinburgh, on a mighty rock, rising almost sheer 
from a delightfully diversified plain. It is a many- 
towered structure, piercing the blue sky and sur- 
rounded by an air of sullen inaccessibility, while the 
red-cross flag flying above it proclaims it a station of 
the king's army. It is not by any means the castle 
of the days of Bruce and Wallace, having been re- 
built and adapted to the purposes of a military 
barracks. True, many of the ancient portions re- 
main, but the long, laborious climb to the summit of 
the rock and the battlements of the castle will, if the 
day be fine, be better repaid by the magnificent pros- 
pect than by anything else. If the barrack castle is 
a little disappointing, the wide sweep of country 

170 



THROUGH HISTORIC SCOTLAND 

fading away into the blue mountains on the west — 
Ben Venue, Ben Ledi and Ben Lomond of "The 
Lady of the Lake" — eastward the rich lowlands, 
running for miles and miles down the fertile valley 
of the Forth, dotted with many towns and villages; 
the wooded hills to the north with the massive tower 
of the Wallace monument and the dim outlines of the 
ruins of Cambuskenneth Abbey; or, near at hand, 
the old town under your very eye and the historic 
field of Bannockburn just adjoining, will make ample 
amends. The story of "The Lady of the Lake" 
pictures Stirling in its palmiest days, and no one who 
visits the castle will forget the brilliant closing scene 
of the poem. Here too, 

"The rose of Stuart's line 
Has left the fragrance of her name," 
for Mary was hurried for safety to the castle a few 
days after her birth at Linlithgow Palace, and as a 
mere baby was crowned Queen of Scotland in 
the chapel. The parish church was also the scene 
of many coronations, and in the case of James VI, 
later James I of England, John Knox preached the 
sermon. 

One cannot go far in Scotland without crossing 
the path of Prince Charlie or standing in the shadow 
of some ancient building associated with the melan- 
choly memory of Queen Mary, and, despite the un- 
questioned loyalty of the Scottish people to the pres- 

171 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

ent government, there seems to linger everywhere a 
spirit of regret over the failure of the chevalier to re- 
gain the throne of his fathers. Perhaps it is scarcely 
expressed — only some word dropped in casual con- 
versation, some flash of pride as you are pointed to 
the spots where Prince Charles' triumphs were won, 
or some thinly veiled sentiment in local guide-books 
will make it clear to you that Scotland still cherishes 
the memory of the prince for whom her fathers suf- 
fered so much. Passing Falkirk, now a large manu- 
facturing town, dingy with the smoke from its great 
furnaces, we were reminded that near here in 1 746 
the prince gained one of his most decisive victories, 
the precursor of the capture of Edinburgh by his 
army. A few miles farther on is Linlithgow with 
its famous palace, the birthplace of the Queen of 
Scots. This more accords with our idea of a royal 
residence than the fortified castles, for it evidently 
was never intended as a defensive fortress. It stands 
on the margin of a lovely lake, and considering its de- 
lightful situation and its comparative comfort, it is 
not strange that it was a favorite residence of the 
Scottish kings. It owes its dismantled condition to 
the wanton spite of the English dragoons, who, when 
they retreated from Linlithgow in face of the High- 
land army in 1 746, left the palace in flames. 

From Linlithgow the broad highway led us di- 
rectly into Edinburgh by the way of Princess Street. 

172 



XI 

FROM EDINBURGH TO YORKSHIRE 

Two men above all others and everything else are 
responsible for the romantic fame w^hich the bleak 
and largely barren Land of Scots enjoys the English- 
speaking M^orld over. If Robert Burns and Walter 
Scott had never told the tales and sung the songs of 
their native land, no endless stream of pilgrims would 
pour to its shrines and its history and traditions would 
be vastly second in interest to those of England and 
Wales. But the Wizard of the North touched 
Scotia's rough hills with the rosy hues of his romance. 
He threw the glamour of his story around its crumb- 
ling ruins. Through the magic of his facile pen, its 
petty chiefs and marauding nobles assumed heroic 
mould and its kings and queens — rulers over a mere 
handful of turbulent people — were awakened into a 
majestic reality. WTio would care aught for Prince 
Charlie or his horde of beggarly Highlanders were 
it not for the song of Burns and the story of Scott? 
Nor would the melancholy fate of Queen Mary have 
been brought so vividly before the world — ^but 
wherefore multiply instances to illustrate an admitted 
fact? 

178 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

In Edinburgh we were near the center from 
which Scott's vast influences radiated. The tradi- 
tions of Burns overshadow Southwestern Scotland 
and the memories of Scott seem to be identified with 
the cities, the villages, the solitary ruins, the hills and 
vales of the eastern coast. We note as we pass along 
Princess Street, one of the finest thoroughfares in 
Britain, the magnificent monument to the great 
author — the most majestic tribute ever erected to a 
literary man — a graceful Gothic spire, towering two 
hundred feet in the sky. The city is full of his mem- 
ories. Here are many of the places he celebrated in 
his stories, his haunts for years, and the house where 
he retired after financial disaster to face a self-chosen 
battle with a gigantic debt which he might easily 
have evaded by a mere figment of the law. 

However, one can hardly afford to take from a 
motor tour the time which should rightly be given to 
Edinburgh, for the many attractions of the Athens of 
the North might well occupy a solid week. Fortu- 
nately, a previous visit by rail two years before had 
solved the problem for us and we were fairly familiar 
with the more salient features of the city. There is 
one side trip that no one may miss, and though we 
had once journeyed by railway train to Melrose 
Abbey and Abbottsford House, we could not forego 
a second visit to these famous shrines and to Dry- 
burgh Abbey, which we had missed before. Thus 

174 



FROM EDINBURGH TO YORKSHIRE 

again we had the opportunity of contrasting the 
motor car and the railway train. I remembered 
distinctly our former trip to Melrose by rail. It was 
on a Saturday afternoon holiday when crowds of 
trippers were leaving the city, packed in the uncom- 
fortable compartments like sardines in a box — not 
one in a dozen having a chance to sit. We were 
driven from Melrose to Abbottsford House at a 
snail's pace, consuming so much time that a trip to 
Dryburgh Abbey was out of the question, though 
we had left Edinburgh about noon. By motor, we 
were out of the city about three o'clock, and though 
we covered more than eighty miles, we were back 
before lamp-lighting time. The road to Dryburgh 
Abbey runs nearly due south from Edinburgh, and 
the country through which we passed was hardly 
so prosperous looking as the northeastern section of 
Scotland — much of it rather rough-looking country, 
adapted only for sheep-grazing and appearing as if 
it might be reclaimed moorland. 

The tomb of Walter Scott is in Dryburgh Abbey, 
and with the possible exception of Melrose it prob- 
ably has more visitors than any other point in Scot- 
land outside of Edinburgh. The tourist season had 
hardly begun, yet the caretaker told us that more 
than seventy people had been there during the day 
and most of them were Americans. The abbey lies 
on the margin of the River Tweed, the silver stream 

176 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

SO beloved of Scott, and though sadly fragmentary, 
is most religiously cared for and the decay of time 
and weather held in check by constant repairs and 
restoration. The many thousands of admission fees 
every year no doubt form a fund which will keep 
this good work going indefinitely. The weather- 
beaten walls and arches were overgrown with masses 
of ivy and the thick, green grass of the newly mown 
lawn spread beneath like a velvet carpet. We had 
reached the ruin so late that it was quite deserted, 
and we felt the spirit of the place all the more as we 
wandered about in the evening silence. Scott's tomb, 
that of his wife and their eldest son are in one of the 
chapels whose vaulted roof still remains in position. 
Tall iron gates between the arches enclose the 
graves, which are marked with massive sarcophagi 
of Scotch granite. Dryburgh Abbey was at one 
time the property of the Scott family, which accounts 
for its use as their burial-ground. It has passed into 
other hands, but interments are still made on rare 
occasions. The spot was one which always interest- 
ed and delighted Scott and it was his expressed wish 
that he be buried there. 

We had been warned that the by-ways leading to 
the abbey from the north of the Tweed were not 
very practicable for motors and we therefore ap- 
proached it from the other side. This made it nec- 
essary to cross the river on a flimsy suspension bridge 

176 



FROM EDINBURGH TO YORKSHIRE 

for foot-passengers only, and a notice at each end 
peremptorily forbade that more than half a dozen 
people pass over the bridge at one time. After cross- 
ing the river it was a walk of more than a mile to the 
abbey, and as we were tempted to linger rather long 
it was well after six o'clock when we re-crossed the 
river and resumed our journey. Melrose is twelve 
miles farther on and the road crosses a series of rather 
sharp hills. We paused for a second glimpse of 
Melrose Abbey, which has frequently been styled 
the most perfect and beautiful ecclesiastical ruin in 
Britain. We were of the opinion, however, that we 
had seen at least three or four others more extensive 
and of greater architectural merit. Undoubtedly the 
high praise given Melrose is due to the fame which 
it acquired from the poems and stories of Scott. The 
thousands of pilgrims who come every year are at- 
tracted by this alone, since the abbey had no extra- 
ordinary history and no tomb of king or hero is to be 
found in its precincts. Were it not for the weird 
interest which the "Lay of the Last Minstrel" has 
throv/n around Melrose, its fame would probably 
be no greater than that of the abbeys at Jedburgh 
and Kelso in the same neighborhood. Abbottsford 
House is only three miles from Melrose, but it is 
closed to visitors after five o'clock and we missed a 
second visit, which we should have liked very much. 
Upon such things the motorist must fully inform him- 

177 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

self or he is liable to many disappointments by reach- 
ing his objective on the wrong day or hour. 

We returned to Edinburgh by the way of 
Galashiels, a manufacturing town of considerable 
size that lay in a deep valley far below the road 
which we were following along the edges of the 
wooded hills. This road abounded in dangerous 
turns and caution was necessary when rounding sharp 
curves that in places almost described a circle. We 
had a clear right-of-way, however, and reached 
Edinburgh before nine o'clock. A delightful feature 
of summer touring in Britain is the long evening, 
which is often the pleasantest time for traveling. 
The highways are usually quite deserted and the 
mellow effect of the sunsets and the long twilights 
often lends an additional charm to the landscapes. 
In the months of July and August in Scotland day- 
light does not begin to fade away until from nine 
to ten, and in northern sections the dawn begins as 
early as two or three o'clock. During our entire 
tour we found it necessary to light our lamps only 
two or three times, although we were often on the 
road after nine o'clock. Though Edinburgh has un- 
usually broad and well paved streets, it is a trying 
place for a motorist. The people make little effort 
to keep to the sidewalk, but let the fellow who is 
driving the car do the looking out for them. In no 
city through which we passed did I find greater care 

178 



FROM EDINBURGH TO YORKSHIRE 

necessary. Despite all this, accidents are rare, owing 
to the fact that drivers of motor cars in Great Britain 
have had the lesson of carefulness impressed upon 
them by strict and prompt enforcement of police reg- 
ulations. Like carelessness on the part of pedestrians 
in the city of Chicago would surely result in number- 
less accidents should motor cars continue to be 
handled as they are now. 

We left Edinburgh the next forenoon with a view 
of making Berwick-on-Tweed our stopping place for 
the evening — not a long distance in miles but a con- 
siderable one measured in spots of historical import- 
ance. The road much of the way skirts the ocean 
and is a magnificent highway leading through a num- 
ber of quaint towns famous in Scotch song and story. 
Numerous battlefields are scattered along the way, 
but we found it difficult to locate a battlefield when 
we passed it, and generally quit trying. In fact, in the 
days of border warfare the whole south of Scotland 
was the scene of almost continuous strife, and battles 
of greater or less importance were fought every- 
where with the English in the centuries of fierce 
hatred which existed between the two nations. The 
Scots held their own wonderfully well, considering 
their greatly inferior numbers and the general pov- 
erty of their country. The union, after all, was 
brought about not by conquest but by a Scotch king 
going to London to assume the crown of the two 

179 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

kingdoms. The famous old town of Berwick-on- 
Tweed bore the brunt of the incursions from both 
sides on the eastern coast, as did Carlisle on the west. 
The town of Dunbar, situated on the coast about 
midway between Edinburgh and Berwick, was of 
great importance in border history. It had an extens- 
ive and strongly fortified castle, situated on the 
margin of a cliff overhanging the ocean, and which 
was for a time the residence of Queen Mary after 
her marriage with Darnley. Nothing now remains 
of this great structure save a few crumbling walls of 
red sandstone, which are carefully propped up and 
kept in the best possible repair by the citizens, who 
have at last come to realize the cash value of such a 
ruin. If such a realization had only come to them a 
hundred years ago, a great service would have been 
done the historian and the antiquarian. But this is 
no less true of a thousand other towns than of Dun- 
bar. No quainter edifice did we see in all Britain 
than Dunbar's Fifteenth Century town hall. It 
seemed more characteristic of one of the old German 
towns than of Scotland, and a reference to the illus- 
tration will give a better idea of it than any words. 
This odd old building is still the seat of the city 
government. 

The road from Dunbar ran for a long way be- 
tween the hills of Lammermoor and the ocean and 
abounded in delightful and striking scenery. We 

180 




TOWN rrousE, dunbar, Scotland. 



FROM EDINBURGH TO YORKSHIRE 

were forcibly reminded of Scott's mournful story, 
"The Bride of Lammermoor," as we passed among 
the familiar scenes mentioned in the book, and it was 
the influence of this romantic tale that led us from 
the main road into narrow byways and sleepy little 
coast towns innocent of modern progress and un- 
disturbed by the rattle of railway trains. No great 
distance from Berwick and directly on the ocean 
stands Fast Castle, said to be the prototype of the 
Wolf's Crag of "Lammermoor." This wild story 
had always interested me in my boyhood days and 
for years I had dreamed of the possibility of some 
time seeing the supposed retreat of the melancholy 
master of Ravenswood. We had great difficulty in 
locating the castle, none of the people seeming to 
know anything about it, and we wandered many 
miles among the hills through narrow, unmarked by- 
ways, with little idea of where we were really going. 
At last, after dint of inquiry, we came upon a group 
of houses which we were informed were the head- 
quarters of a large farm of about two thousand acres, 
and practically all the people who worked on the 
farm lived, with their families, in these houses. The 
superintendent knew of Fast Castle, which he said 
was in a lonely and inaccessible spot, situated on a 
high, broken headland overlooking the ocean. It 
was two or three miles distant and the road would 
hardly admit of taking the car any farther. He did 

181 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

not think the ruin was worth going to see, anyhow; 
it had been cared for by no one and within his mem- 
ory the walls had fallen in and crumbled away. 
Either his remarks or the few miles' walk discouraged 
me, and after having traveled fully thirty miles to 
find this castle, I turned about and went on without 
going to the place at all, and of course I now regret 
it as much as anything I failed to do on our whole 
tour. I shall have to go to Fast Castle yet — by 
motor car. 

After regaining the main road, it was only a short 
run along the edge of the ocean to Berwick-on- 
Tweed, which we reached early in the evening. I 
recall no more delightful day during our tour. It 
had been fresh and cool, and the sky was perfectly 
clear. For a great part of the way the road had 
passed within view of the ocean, whose deep un- 
ruffled blue, entirely unobscured by the mists that so 
often hang over the northern seas, stretched away un- 
til it was lost in the pale, sapphire hues of the skies. 
The country itself was fresh and bright after abun- 
dant rains, and as haymaking was in progress in 
many places along the road, the air was laden with 
the scent of the newly mown grasses. Altogether, 
it was a day long to be remembered. 

Berwick-on-Tweed lies partly in England and 
partly in Scotland, the river which runs through it 
forming the boundary line. An odd bridge built by 

182 



FROM EDINBURGH TO YORKSHIRE 

James I connects the two parts of the town, the high- 
est point of its archway being nearest the Scottish 
shore and giving the effect of "having its middle at 
one end," as some Scotch wit has expressed it. The 
town was once strongly fortified, especially on the 
Scottish side, and a castle was built on a hill com- 
manding the place. Traces of the wall surrounding 
the older part of the city still remain; it is easy to 
follow it throughout its entire course. When the 
long years of border warfare ended, a century and 
a half ago, the town inside of the wall must have 
appeared much the same as it does today. It is a 
town of crooked streets and quaint buildings, set 
down without the slightest reference to the points of 
the compass. The site of the castle is occupied by 
the railway station, though a few crumbling walls 
of the former structure still remain. The station 
itself is now called The Castle and reproduces on a 
smaller scale some of the architectural features of the 
ancient fortress. 

We started southward from Berwick the follow- 
ing morning over the fine road leading through 
Northumberland. About ten miles off this road, and 
reached by narrow byways, is the pleasant little sea- 
coast village of Bamborough, and the fame of its 
castle tempted us to visit it. I had often wondered 
why some of the old-time castles were not restored 
to their pristine magnificence — what we should have 

183 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

if Kenilworth or Raglan were re-built and to its 
ancient glory there were added all the modern con- 
veniences for comfort. I found in Bamborough 
Castle a case exactly to the point. Lord Armstrong, 
the millionaire shipbuilder, had purchased this castle 
— almost a complete ruin — and when he began 
restoration only the Norman tower of the keep was 
intact; and besides this there was little except the 
foundation walls. Lord Armstrong entirely re-built 
the castle, following the original plan and designs, 
and the result is one of the most striking and pleasing 
of the palatial residences in England. The situation, 
on a high headland extending into the ocean, com- 
mands a view in every direction and completely 
dominates the sleepy little village lying just beneath. 
The castle is of great antiquity, the records showing 
that a fortress had been built on this site in the Fifth 
Century by Ida, King of Northumberland, though 
the present building largely reproduces the features 
of the one founded in the time of the Conqueror. 

Lord Armstrong died the year before the work 
on the castle was completed and it passed into the 
hands of his nephew. It is open to visitors only one 
day in the week, and it happened, as usual, that we 
had arrived on the wnrong day. Fortunately, the 
family were absent, and our plea that we were 
Americans who had come a long distance to see the 
place was quite as effective here as in other cases. 

1S4 



FROM EDINBURGH TD YORKSHIRE 

The housekeeper showed us the palace in detail that 
we could hardly have hoped for under other cir- 
cumstances. The interior was fitted in the richest 
and most magnificent style, and I have never seen 
the natural beauties of woodwork brought out with 
better effect. How closely the old-time construction 
was followed in the restoration is shown by the fact 
that the great open roof of the banqueting hall is put 
together with wooden pins, no nail having been 
used. The castle has every modern convenience, 
even hot-water heating — a rare thing in England — 
being installed. When we saw what an excellent 
result had been attained in the restoration, we could 
not but wonder that such a thing has not oftener 
been done. In the village churchyard is the massive 
gray granite monument erected to the memory of 
Grace Darling, who lived and died in Bamborough, 
and a brass tablet in the ancient church is inscribed 
with the record of her heroism. The lighthouse 
which was kept by her father is just off Bamborough 
Head, and it was from this that, single handed, in 
the face of a raging storm, she launched her frail boat 
and saved several people from a foundering ship. 
Only four years later she succumbed to consumption, 
but her unparallelled bravery has made the name of 
this young girl a household word wherever the Eng- 
lish language is spoken. 

On leaving Bamborough we came as nearly get- 
185 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

ting lost in the narrow, winding byways as at any 
time during our tour. A bridge under repair on the 
direct route to the main road compelled us to resort 
to byways which were unmarked by signboards and 
in as ill condition as many American roads. Nor 
could the people of whom we inquired give us in- 
telligent direction. We finally reached the road 
again after the loss of an hour or more. 

A short time afterwards we came to Alnwick, 
whose castle is one of the most extensive and com- 
plete specimens of mediaeval architecture in Eng- 
land. In the last century it has been largely restored, 
following out the original design of the exterior, at 
least, and is now the residence of the Duke of Nor- 
thumberland. Usually it is open to visitors, but in 
the confusion that followed the visit of the king the 
day before, the castle and its great park had been 
closed until the next week. We had seen the in- 
terior of so many similar places that this was not so 
much of a disappointment, especially as we had a 
splendid view of the old fortress from the outside 
and also from the courtyard. On the battlements of 
this castle are numerous stone figures of men in the 
act of hurling down missies on the heads of foes who 
might besiege it. This was quite common in early 
days and feudal barons perhaps thought to make up 
for their shortage of real men by placing these effigies 
on the walls of their fortresses, but Alnwick is the 

186 



FROM. EDINBURGH TO YORKSHIRE 

only castle on which the figures still remain. The 
town itself was still in holiday attire in honor of its 
royal guest of the preceding day. The buildings 
were covered with the national colors and many dec- 
orations and illuminations had been planned to cele- 
brate the occasion. Alnwick is one of the most 
typical of the English feudal towns. It is owned 
largely by the Duke of Northumberland, who ap- 
pears to be popular with his tenantry, the latter hav- 
ing erected, in honor of their noble landlord, a lofty 
column surmounted by the figure of a lion. Every 
view from the distance for miles around is dominated 
by the battlemented and many-towered walls of the 
castle, which surmounts a hill overlooking the town. 
The story of Alnwick and its castle would be long 
to tell, for they bore the brunt of many Scotch in- 
cursions and suffered much at the hands of the fierce 
marauders from the north. 

Our afternoon's run led us from Alnwick to Dur- 
ham, passing through Newcastle-on-Tyne. New- 
castle is a large, commercial city, famous for its 
mining and shipbuilding industries, and has but little 
to engage the attention of the tourist. Our pause was 
a short one, and we reached Durham in good time 
after a run of over one hundred miles, broken by 
several lengthy stops on the way. 

The main street of Durham in many places is 
barely wide enough for two vehicles to pass. It 

187 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

winds and twists through the town in such a way 
that one seems to be almost moving in a circle at 
times and constant inquiry is necessary to keep from 
being lost on the main street of a city of fifteen or 
twenty thousand. The town is almost as much of 
a jumble as if its red, tile-roof buildings had been 
promiscuously thrown to their places from Cathedral 
Hill. Durham is strictly an ecclesiastical center. 
There is little except the cathedral, which, in addi- 
tion to being one of the most imposing, occupies 
perhaps the finest site of any of the great English 
churches. Together with Durham Castle, it monop- 
olizes the summit of a hill which at its base is three- 
quarters surrounded by the river. The greater part 
of the cathedral dates back seven or eight hundred 
years, but additions have been made from time to 
time so that nearly all styles of architecture are 
represented. Tradition has it that it was founded by 
St. Cuthbert, whose chief characteristic is declared 
to have been his antipathy toward women of all 
degrees. A curious relic of this peculiarity of the 
saint remains in a granite cross set in the center of 
the floor of the nave, beyond which, in the earlier 
days, no woman was ever allowed to pass. The 
interior of the church is mainly in the massive and 
imposing Norman style. The carved stone screen 
is one of the most elaborate and perfect in Britain, 
and dates back from the Thirteenth Century. The 

188 



FROM EDINBURGH TO YORKSHIRE 

verger told us of the extreme care which must be 
taken to preserve this relic. He said that the stone 
of the screen is rather soft and brittle, and that in 
cleaning it was never touched, the dust being blown 
away with bellows. Durham, in common with most 
of the cathedrals, suffered severely at the hands of the 
Parliamentarians under Cromwell. It was used as 
a prison for a part of the Scotch army captured at 
the battle of Dunbar, and as these Presbyterians had 
almost as much contempt for images as the Crom- 
wellians themselves, many of the beautiful monu- 
ments in the cathedral were broken up. Durham, 
like Canterbury, is a town that is much favored by 
the artists, and deservedly so. The old buildings 
lining the winding river and canal form in many 
places delightful vistas in soft colors almost as pict- 
uresque as bits of Venice itself. The hotels, how- 
ever, are far from first-class, and one would probably 
be more comfortable at Newcastle. Speaking of 
hotels, we did not at any time engage accommoda- 
tions in advance, and Durham was the only town 
where we found the principal hotel with all rooms 
taken. With the rapid increase of motoring, how- 
ever, it will probably become necessary to telegraph, 
for accommodations at the best hotels. And tele- 
graphing is an exceedingly easy thing in England. 
A message can be sent from any postoffice at a cost 
of sixpence for the first ten words. 

189 



XII 

IN OLD YORKSHIRE 

York is by far the largest of the English shires, a 
widely diversified country, ranging from fertile farm 
land to broken hills and waste moorland, while its 
river valleys and considerable coast line present 
greatly varied but always picturesque scenery. The 
poet describes the charms of Yorkshire as yielding 

"Variety without end, sweet interchange 
Of hill and valley, river, wood and plain." 
Nor did we find this description at all inapt as we 
drove over its excellent roads during the fine July 
weather. But the Yorkshire country is doubly in- 
teresting, for if the landscape is of surpassing beauty, 
the cities, the villages, the castles and abbeys, and 
the fields where some of the fiercest battles in Britain 
have been fought, have intertwined their associations 
with every hill and valley. Not only the size of the 
shire, but its position — midway between London and 
the Scottish border, and extending almost from coast 
to coast — made it a bulwark, as it were, against the 
incursions of the Scots and their numerous sympa- 
thizers in the extreme north of England. No part 
of England is more thickly strewn with attractions 

190 



IN OLD YORKSHIRE 

for the American tourist and in no other section do 
conditions for motor travel average better. 

From London to York, the capital city of the 
shire, runs the Great North Road, undoubtedly the 
finest highway in all Britain. It is laid out on a 
liberal scale, magnificently surfaced and bordered 
much of the way by wide and beautifully kept lawns 
and at times skirted with majestic trees. We saw a 
facsimile of a broadside poster issued about a cent- 
ury ago announcing that the new lightning coach 
service installed on this road between London and 
York would carry passengers the distance of one 
hundred and eighty-eight miles in the astonishingly 
short space of four days. This coach, of course, 
traveled by relays, and at what was then considered 
breakneck speed. Over this same highway it would 
now be an easy feat for a powerful car to cover the 
distance in three or four hours. The great North 
Road was originally constructed by the Romans to 
maintain the quickest possible communication be- 
tween London and Eboracum, as York was styled 
during the Roman occupation. 

The limitation of our time had become such that 
we could but feel that our tour through Yorkshire 
must be of the most superficial kind. Not less than 
two weeks of motoring might well be spent in the 
county and every day be full of genuine enjoyment. 
The main roads are among the best in England and 

191 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

afford access to most of the important points. We 
learned, however, that there is much of interest to 
be reached only from byways, but that these may 
lead over steep and even dangerous hills and are 
often in not much better condition than our Ameri- 
can roads. 

We left Durham about noon, following a rather 
indirect route to Darlington; from thence, through 
hawthome-bordered byways, we came to Richmond, 
one of the quaintest and most representative of the 
old Yorkshire towns. We happened here on market 
day and the town was crowded with farmers from 
the surrounding country. Here we saw many types 
of the Yorkshire man, famed for his shrewdness and 
fondness for what we would call "dickering." Much 
of the buying and selling in English towns is done 
on market day ; live stock, produce, farm implements, 
and almost every kind of merchandise are sold at 
auction in the public market place. If a farmer wants 
to dispose of a horse or to buy a moving machine, 
he avails himself of this auction and the services of 
a professional auctioneer. Such an individual was 
busily plying his vocation in front of the King's Head 
Hotel, and the roars of laughter from the farmers 
which greeted his sallies as he cried his wares cer- 
tainly seemed to indicate that the charge that Eng- 
lishmen can not aooreciate humor — at least of a cer- 
tain kind — is a base slander. As Richmond is the 

192 



IN OLD YORKSHIRE 

center of one of the best farming districts in York- 
shire, its market day was no doubt a typical one. 

Richmond Castle at one time was one of the most 
formidable and strongly situated of the northern 
fortresses. It stands on an almost perpendicular 
rock, rising one hundred feet above the River Swale, 
but with the exception of the Norman keep the ruins 
are scanty indeed. There is enough of the enclosing 
walls to give some idea of the extent of the original 
castle, which covered five acres, its magnificent posi- 
tion commanding the whole of the surrounding coun- 
try. The keep is now used as a military storehouse. 
The soldier-guard in charge was very courteous and 
relieved us of the necessity of securing a pass from 
the commandant, as was required by a notice at the 
castle entrance. He conducted us to the top of the 
great tower, from which we were favored with one 
of the finest views in Central England and one that 
is almost unobstructed in every direction. Unfort- 
unately, a blue mist obscured much of the landscape, 
but the guard told us that on clear days it was easy 
to see York Minster, more than forty miles away. 
Near at hand, nestling in the valley of the Swale, are 
the ivy-covered ruins of Easby Abbey; while still 
nearer, on the hillside, the great tower of Grey Friars 
Church is all that remains of another once extensive 
monastery. In no way can one get a more adequate 
idea of the parklike beauty of the English landscape 

193 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

than to view it from such point of vantage as the 
keep of Richmond Castle. Richmond Church is an 
imposing structure standing near the castle and has 
recently been restored as nearly as possible to its 
ancient state. An odd feature of the church is the 
little shop built in the base of the tower, where a 
tobacconist now plies his trade. 

From the castle tower, looking down the luxuriant 
valley, we noticed at no great distance, hcJf hidden 
by the trees, the outlines of a ruined church — the 
Easby Abbey which I have just mentioned as one 
of the numerous Yorkshire ruins. It is but a few 
furlongs off the road by which we left Richmond 
and the byway we entered dropped down a sharp 
hill to the pleasant spot on the river side where the 
abbey stands. The location is a rather secluded one 
and the painstaking care noticeable about so many 
ruins is lacking. It is surrounded by trees, euid a 
large elm growing in the very midst of the walls and 
arches Hung a network of sun and shade over the 
crumbling stones. The murmur of the nearby Swale 
and the notes of the English thrushes filled the air 
with soft melody. Amid such surroundings, we 
hardly heard the old custodian as he pointed out the 
different apartments and told us the story of the 
palmy days of the abbey and of its final doom at the 
relentless hands of Henry VIII. Near by is a tiny 
church, which no doubt had served the people of the 

194 



IN OLD YORKSHIRE 

neighborhood as a place of worship since the abbey 
fell into ruin. 

The day, which had so far been fine, soon began 
to turn cold — one of those sudden and disagreeable 
changes that come in England and Scotland in the 
very midst of summertime, an experience that hap- 
pens so often that one can not wonder at Byron's 
complaint of the English winter, "closing in July to 
re-commence in August." At no time in the summer 
were we able to dispense for any length of time with 
heavy wraps cmd robes while on the road. From 
Richmond we hastened away over a fine and nearly 
straight road to Ripon, whose chief attraction is its 
cathedral. Speaking of cathedrals again, I might re- 
mark that our tour took us to every one of these, with 
one exception — in England and Scotland, about 
thirty in all — and the exception, Beverley Minster, 
is but newly created and relatively of lesser im- 
portance. 

Ripon is one of the smaller cathedrals and of less 
importance in historical associations. It occupies a 
magnificent site, crowning a hill rising in the very 
center of the town, and from a distance gives the 
impression of being larger than it really is. It presents 
a somewhat unfinished aspect with its three low, 
square-topped towers, once surmounted by great 
wooden spires, which became unsafe and were taken 
down, never to be replaced. These must have add- 

195 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWATS 

ed wonderfully to the dignity and proper proportion 
of the church. 

Just outside Ripon lies Fountains Abbey, un- 
doubtedly the most striking and best preserved 
ecclesiastical ruin in England. It is on the estate of 
the Marquis of Ripon, adjoining the town, and this 
nobleman takes great pride in the preservation of the 
abbey. The great park, which also surrounds his 
residence, is thrown open every day and one has full 
liberty to go about it at pleasure. It is a popular 
resort, and on the day of our visit the number of 
people passing through the gate exceeded five hun- 
dred. The gatekeeper assured us that a thousand 
visitors on a single day was not an uncommon occur- 
rence. The abbey stands in a wooded valley on 
the margin of a charming little river, and underneath 
and around the ruin is a lawTi whose green loveli- 
ness is such as can be found in England alone. 
There is no room in this record for the description 
of such a well known place or for its story. The one 
feature which impressed us most, and which is one 
of the finest specimens of Norman architecture in 
England, is the great cellarium, where the monks 
stored their wine in the good old days. The vaulted 
roof of this vast apartment, several hundred feet in 
length, is in perfect condition and shows how sub- 
stantially the structure must have been built. 
Fountains Abbey shared the fate of its contempo- 

196 



IN OLD YORKSHIRE 

raries at the hand of Henry VIII, who drove the 
monks from its shelter, confiscating their property and 
revenues. It was growing late when we left Ripon 
for York, but the road was perfect and we had no 
trouble in covering the twenty miles or more in about 
an hour. We were soon made comfortable at the 
Station Hotel in York, one of the oldest and most 
interesting of the larger English cities. 

The following day being Sunday, we availed our- 
selves of the opportunity of attending services at the 
Minster. The splendid music of the great organ 
was enough to atone for the long dreary chant of the 
litany, and the glory of the ancient windows, break- 
ing the gloom of the church with a thousand shafts 
of softened light, was in itself an inspiration more 
than any sermon — at least to us, to whom these 
things had the charm of the unusual. The sermon 
of the morning was a short one and was largely de- 
voted to denouncing the young Queen of Spain for 
having abjured the Protestant faith to marry a 
Roman Catholic prince. This marriage was most 
distasteful to the Church of England dignitaries — 
so much so, in fact, that the King felt compelled to 
enter a disclaimer as having been responsible for it. 
Notwithstanding the frown of the church, the union 
of the royal house of Spain with that of England 
appeared to be very popular with the people every- 
where. 

197 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

York Minster, with the exception of St. Paul's in 
London, is the largest cathedral in England and con- 
tests with Canterbury for first place in political im- 
portance. Its greatest glory is its windows, which 
are by far the finest of any in England. Many of 
them date back to the Thirteenth and Fourteenth 
Centuries, and when one contemplates their subdued 
beauty it is easy to understand why stained-glass 
making is now reckoned one of the lost arts. These 
windows escaped numerous vicissitudes which im- 
periled the cathedral, among them the disastrous 
fires which nearly destroyed it on two occasions 
within the last century. The most remarkable of 
them all is the "Five Sisters" at the end of the nave, 
a group of live slender, softly-toned windows of im- 
posing height. The numerous monuments scattered 
throughout the church are of little interest to the 
American visitor. We were surprised at the small 
audiences which we found at the cathedrals where 
we attended services. A mere corner is large enough 
to care for the congregations, the vast body of the 
church being seldom used except on state occasions. 
Though York is a city of seventy-live thousand 
population, I think there were not more than four or 
five hundred people in attendance, though the day 
was exceptionally line. 

There are numerous places within easy reach of 
198 



IN OLD YORKSHIRE 

York which one should not miss, A sixty-mile trip 
during three or four hours of the afternoon gave us 
the opportunity of seeing two abbey ruins, Helmsley 
Castle and Laurence Sterne's cottage at Coxwold. 
Our route led over a series of steep hills almost due 
north to Helmsley, a town with unbroken traditions 
from the time of the Conqueror. Its ancient castle 
surrendered to Fairfax with the agreement that "it 
be absolutely demolished and that no garrison here- 
after be kept by either party." So well was this 
provision carried out that only a ragged fragment 
remains of the once impregnable fortress, which has 
an added interest from its connection with Scott's 
story, "The Fortunes of Nigel." 

Two miles from Helmsley is Rievaulx Abbey, 
situated in a deep, secluded valley, and the narrow 
byway leading to the ruin was so steep and rough 
that we left the car and walked down the hill. A 
small village nestles in the valley, a quiet, out-of-the- 
way little place whose thatched cottages were sur- 
rounded by a riot of old-fashioned flowers and their 
walls dashed with the rich color of the bloom-laden 
rose-vines. Back of the village, in lonely grandeur, 
stands the abbey, still imposing despite decay and 
neglect. Just in front of it is the cottage of the old 
custodian, who seemed considerably troubled by our 
application to visit the ruins. He said that the place 
was not open on Sunday and gave us to understand 

199 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

that he had conscientious scruples against admitting 
anyone on that day. The hint of a fee overcame his 
scruples to such an extent that he intimated that the 
gates were not locked anyway and if we desired to 
go through them he did not know of anything that 
would prevent us. We wandered about in the 
shadows of the high but crumbling walls, whose ex- 
tent gave a strong impression of the original glory of 
the place, and one may well believe the statement 
that at the time of the Dissolution Rievaulx was one 
of the largest as well as richest of the English abbeys. 
The old keeper was awaiting us at the gateway and 
his conscientious scruples were again awakened when 
we asked him for a few post-card pictures. He 
amiably intimated his own willingness to accommo- 
date us, but said he was afraid that the "old woman" 
(his wife) wouldn't allow it, but he would find out. 
He returned after a short interview in the cottage 
and said that there were some pictures on a table in 
the front room and if we would go in and select what 
we wanted and leave the money for them it would 
be all right. 

On our return from Helmsley, we noticed a by- 
way leading across the moorland with a sign-board 
pointing the way "to Coxwold." We were remind- 
ed that in this out-of-the-way village Laurence 
Sterne, "the father of the English novel," had lived 
many years and that his cottage and church might 

200 



IN OLD YORKSHIRE 

still be seen. A narrow road led sharply from the 
beautiful Yorkshire farming country, through which 
we had been traveling, its fields almost ready for 
the harvest, into a lonely section of moorland almost 
as brown and bare as our own western sagebrush 
country. It was on this unfrequented road that we, 
encountered the most dangerous hill we passed over 
during our trip, and the road descending it was a 
reminder of some of the worst in our native country. 
They called it "the bank," and the story of its terrors 
to motorists, told us by a Helmsley villager, was in 
no wise an exaggeration. It illustrates the risk often 
attending a digression into byroads not listed in the 
road-book, for England is a country of many hilly 
sections. I had read only a few days before of the 
wreck of a large car in Derbyshire where the driver 
lost control of his machine on a gradient of one in 
three. The car dashed over an embankment, de- 
molishing many yards of stone wall and coming to 
rest in a valley hundreds of feet beneath. And this 
was only one of several similar cases. Fortunately, 
we had only the descent to make — our car could 
never have climbed the hill. The bank dropped 
off the edge of the moorland into a lovely and fertile 
valley, where, quite unexpectedly, we came upon 
Bylands Abbey, the rival of Rievaulx, but far more 
fallen into decay. It stood alone in the midst of the 
wide valley; no caretaker hindered our steps to its 

201 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

precincts and no effort had been made to prop its 
crumbling walls or to stay the green ruin creeping 
over it. The fragment of its great eastern window, 
still standing, was its most imposing feature and 
showed that it had been a church of no mean archi- 
tectural pretension. The locality, it would seem, was 
well supplied with abbeys, for Rievaulx is less than 
ten miles away, but we learned that Bylands was 
founded by monks from the former brotherhood. In 
the good old days it seems to have been a common 
thing when the monks became dissatisfied with the 
establishment to which they were attached for the 
dissenters to start a rival abbey just over the way. 

Coxwold is a sleepy village undisturbed by 
modern progress, its thatched cottages straggling up 
the crooked street that leads to the hilltop, crowned 
by the hoary church whose tall, massive octagonal 
tower dominated the surrounding country. It seems 
out of all proportion to the poverty-stricken, ragged- 
looking little village on the hillside, but this is not at 
all an uncommon impression one will have of the 
churches in small English towns. Across the road 
from the church is the old-time vicarage, reposing in 
the shade of towering elms, and we found no diffi- 
culty whatever in gaining admission to "Shandy 
Hall," as it is now called. We were shown the little 
room not more than nine feet square where Sterne, 
when vicar, wrote his greatest book, "Tristram 

202 



IN OLD YORKSHIRE 

Shandy." The kitchen is still in its original condi- 
tion, with its rough-beamed ceiling and huge fire- 
place. Like most English cottages, the walls were 
covered with climbing roses and creepers and there 
was the usual flower-garden in the rear. The tenants, 
were evidently used to visitors, and though they re- 
fused any gratuity, our attention was called to a box 
near the door which was labeled, "For the benefit 
of Wesley an Missions." 

Two or three miles through the byways after leav- 
ing Coxwold brought us into the main road leading 
into York. This seemed such an ideal place for a 
police trap that we traveled at a very moderate 
speed, meeting numerous motorists on the way. The 
day had been a magnificent one, enabling us to see 
the Yorkshire country at its best. It had been de- 
lightfully cool and clear, and lovelier views than we 
had seen from many of the upland roads would be 
hard to imagine. The fields of yellow grain, nearly 
ready for harvesting, richly contrasted with the pre- 
vailing bright green of the hills and valleys. Alto- 
gether, it was a day among a thousand, and in no 
possible way could one have enjoyed it so greatly 
as from the motor car, which dashed along, slowed 
up or stopped altogether, as the varied scenery 
happened to especially please us. 

York abounds in historic relics, odd comers and 
interesting places. The city was surrounded by a 

203 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

strong wall built originally by Edward I, and one 
may follow it throughout its entire course of more 
than two miles. It is not nearly so complete as the 
famous Chester wall, but it encloses a larger area. It 
shows to even a greater extent the careful work of the 
restorer, as do the numerous gate-towers or "bars" 
which one meets in following the wall. The best ex- 
terior views of the minster may be had from vantage 
points on this wall, and a leisurely tour of its entire 
length is well worth while. The best preserved of the 
gate-towers is Micklegate Bar, from which, in the 
War of the Roses, the head of the Duke of York 
was exhibited to dismay his adherents. There were 
originally forty of these towers, of which several still 
exist. Aside from its world-famous minster, York 
teems with objects and places of curious and arch- 
aeological interest. There are many line old churches 
and much mediaeval architecture. In a public park 
fragments still remain of St. Mary's Abbey, a once 
magnificent establishment, destroyed during the Par- 
liamentary wars; but it must be said to the everlast- 
ing credit of the Parliamentarians that their com- 
manders spared no effort to protect the minster, 
which accounts largely for its excellent preservation. 
Such buildings can stand several fires without much 
damage, since there is little to burn except the roof, 
and the cathedrals suffered most severely at the hands 
of the various contending factions into which they 

204 



IN OLD YORKSHIRE 

fell during the civil wars. The quaintest of York 
streets is The Shambles, a narrow lane paved with 
cobblestones and only wide enough to permit the 
passing of one vehicle at a time. It is lined on either 
side with queer, half-timbered houses, and in one or 
two places these have sagged to such an extent that 
their tops are not more than two or three feet apart. 
In fact, it is said that neighbors in two adjoining 
buildings may shake hands across the street. The 
Shambles no doubt took its name from the unattract- 
ive row of butcher shops which still occupy most of 
the small store-rooms on either side. Hardly less 
picturesque than The Shambles is the Petergate, 
and no more typical bits of old-time England may 
be found anywhere than these two ancient lanes. 
Glimpses of the cathedral towers through the rows 
of odd buildings on either side is a favorite theme 
with the artists. Aside from its antiquity, its old- 
world streets and historic buildings, the modem por- 
tion of York and many business buildings are quite 
up to the best of the English cities. It is an im- 
portant trading and manufacturing point, though 
the prophecy of the old saw, 

"Lincoln was, London is, York shall be. 
The greatest city of the three," 
seems hardly likely to be realized. 



205 



XIII 

A ZIG-ZAG TRIP FROM YORK TO NORWICH 

Late in the afternoon we left York over the Great 
North Road for Retford, from whence we expected 
to make the "Dukeries" circuit. The road nms 
through a beautiful section and passes many of the 
finest of the English country estates. It leads through 
Doncaster, noted for its magnificent church, cuid 
Bawtry, from whence came many of the Pilgrim 
Fathers who sailed in the Mayflower. This road is 
almost level throughout, and although it rained con- 
tinuously, the run of fifty miles was made in record 
time — that is, as we reckoned record time. 

At Retford we were comfortably housed at the 
White Hart Hotel, a well conducted hostelry for a 
town of ten thousand. The "White Hart" must be 
a favorite among English innkeepers, for I recollect 
that we stopped at no fewer than seven hotels bear- 
ing this name during our tour and saw the familiar 
sign on many others. On our arrival we learned that 
the Dukeries trip must be made by carriage and that 
the fifty miles would consume two days. We felt 
averse to subtracting so much from our already short 
remaining time, and when we found still further that 

206 



A ZIG-ZAG TRIP FROM YORK TO NORWICH 

admission was denied for the time at two of the most 
important estates, we decided to proceed without 
further delay. There was no special advantage in 
visiting the Dukeries by motor, for cars were strictly 
forbidden and must have been abandoned while 
the circuit was made in the staid and leisurely Eng- 
lish hack or victoria. 

Since this chronicle was written, however, I have 
learned that the embargo on motoring through the 
Dukeries is at least partially raised — another step 
showing the trend in England in favor of the motor 
car. By prearrangement with the stewards of the 
various estates, permission may be obtained to take 
a car through the main private roads. Thus the 
tourist will be enabled in half a day to accomplish 
what has previously required at least two days driv- 
ing with horse and carriage. 

In this vicinity is Newstead Abbey, the ancestral 
home of Byron, and one of our greatest disappoint- 
ments was our inability to gain access to it. The 
guide-books still stated that visitors would be ad- 
mitted on certain days of the week, but guide-books 
very quickly fall behind the times. The historic 
abbey has come into the possession of a crochety old 
^gentleman who has grown wealthy from the dis- 
covery of coal mines on the estate and is absolutely 
impervious to appeals from those who desire to visit 
the abbey. Two years before, we had made a 

207 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

special trip to Newstead by railway, but all to no 
purpose. This latter time we were fortified with 
a letter of introduction to the Captain of Police in 
this district, who was personally acquainted with the 
owner of Newstead and who made a special effort 
to secure suspension of the rule in our favor. But 
with this assistance our success was no better than 
before. 

It is unfortunate that a place so interesting to 
almost everyone should have fallen into the hands of 
such an unaccommodating owner. It would be a bad 
thing for England if the tendency on the part of 
private owners to exclude visitors should become 
general. The disposition seems somewhat on the 
increase, and not without cause. Indeed, I was told 
that in a number of instances the privileges given had 
been greatly abused; that gardens had been stripped 
of their flowers and relics of various kinds carried 
away. This vandalism was not often charged 
against Americans, but rather against local English 
"trippers," as they are called — people who go to 
these places merely for a picnic or holiday. No 
doubt this could be overcome — it has been overcome 
in a number of instances, notably Warwick Castle 
and Knole House — by the charge of a moderate ad- 
mission fee. People who are willing to pay are not 
generally of the class who commit acts of vandalism. 
That this practice is not adopted to a greater extent 

208 



'£ ZIG-ZAG TRIP FROM YORK TO NORWICH 

is doubtless due to the fact that numbers of aristo- 
cratic owners think there is something degrading in 
the appearance of making a commercial enterprise 
out of the historic places which they possess. 

It is only twenty miles from Retford to Lincoln, 
and long before we reached the latter town we saw 
the towers of its great cathedral, which crowns a 
steep hill rising sharply from the almost level sur- 
rounding country. It is not strange that the cathe- 
dral-builders, always with an eye to the spectacular 
and imposing, should have fixed on this remarkable 
hill as a site for one of their churches. For miles 
from every direction the three massive towers form 
a landmark as they rise above the tile roofs of the 
town in sharp outline against the sky. To Lincoln 
we followed a broad, beautiful highway, almost level 
until it reaches the town, when it abruptly ascends 
the hill, which is so steep as to tax the average 
motor. The cathedral in some respects is the most 
remarkable and imposing in England. The dis- 
tinctive feature is the great towers of equal size and 
height, something similar to those of Durham, though 
higher and more beautifully proportioned. The in- 
terior shows some of the finest Norman architecture 
in the Kingdom and the great Norman doorway is 
said to be the most perfect of its kind. Near the 
chapel in the cathedral close is a bronze statue of 
Tennyson accompanied by his favorite dog. This 

209 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

reminded us that we were in the vicinity of the poet's 
birthplace, cind we determined that the next point in 
our pilgrimage should be Somersby, where the 
church and rectory of Tennyson's father still stand. 

We planned to reach Boston that evening, and as 
there were a good many miles before us we were not 
able to give the time that really should be spent in 
Lincoln. It has many ancient landmarks, the most 
remarkable being a section of the Roman wall that 
surrounded the town about 1 5 A. D. and in which 
the arch of one of the gateways is still entire. It ap- 
peared to have been a very low gateway, but we 
were informed that excavations had shown that in 
the many centuries since it was built the earth had 
risen no less than eight feet in the archway and along 
the wall. Lincoln Castle, much decayed and 
ruinous, is an appropriate feature of one of the public 
parks. Along the streets leading up Cathedral Hill 
are rows of quaint houses, no doubt full of interest; 
but a motor tour often does not permit one to go 
much into detail. 

So we bade farewell to Lincoln, only stopping to 

ask the hostler for directions to the next town on our 

way. Generally such directions are something like 

this: "Turn to the right around the next corner, 

pass two streets, then turn to the left, then turn to the 

right again and keep right along until you come to 

the town hall" — clock tower, or something of the 

210 



A ZIG-ZAG TRIP FROM YORK TO NORWICH 

kind — "and then straight away." After you inquire 
two or three more times and finally come to the land- 
mark, you find three or four streets, any one of which 
seems quite as "straight away" as the others, and a 
consultation with a nearby policeman is necessary, 
after all, to make sure you are right. When once 
well into the country, the milestones, together with 
the finger-boards at nearly every parting of the ways, 
can be depended on to keep you right. These con- 
veniences, however, are by no means evenly dis- 
tributed and in some sections a careful study of the 
map and road-book is necessary to keep from going 
astray. 

The twenty miles to Somersby went by without 
special incident. This quaint little hamlet — it can 
hardly be called a village — is almost hidden among 
the hills, well off the main-traveled roads and rail- 
way. We dashed through the narrow lanes, shaded 
in many places by great trees over-arching the road 
that finally led across the clear little brook made 
famous by Tennyson's verse. After crossing the 
bridge we were in Somersby — if such an expression 
is allowable. Nothing is there except the rectory, 
the church just across the way, the grange, and half 
a dozen thatched cottages. A discouraging notice in 
front of the Tennyson house stated positively that 
the place would not be shown under any conditions 
except on a certain hour of a certain day of the week 

211 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

— which was by no means the day nor the hour of 
our arrival. A party of English teachers came 
toward us, having just met vsdth a refusal, but one 
of them said that Americans might have an except- 
tion made in their favor. Anyway, it was worth 
trying. 

Our efforts proved successful and a neat, 
courteous young woman showed us over the ram- 
bling house. It is quite large — and had to be, in 
fact, to accommodate the rector's family of no fewer 
than twelve children, of whom the poet was the 
fourth. The oddest feature is the large dining room, 
which has an arched roof and narrow, stained-glass 
windows, and the ceiling is broken by several black- 
oak arches. At the base of each of these is a queer 
little face carved in stone and the mantel is curiously 
carved in black oak — all of this being the work of 
the elder Tennyson himself. There is some dispute 
as to the poet's birthroom. Our fair guide showed 
us all the rooms and said we might take our choice. 
We liked the one which opened on the old-fashioned 
garden at the rear of the house, for as is often the case 
in England, the garden side was more attractive than 
the front. Just across the road stands the tiny church 
of which the Rev. Tennyson was rector for many 
years. This was one of the very smallest that we 
visited and would hardly seat more than fifty people 

altogether. It is several hundred years old, and in 

212 



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A ZIG-ZAG TRIP FROM YORK TO NORWICH 

the churchyard is a tall, Norman cross, as old as the 
church itself. 

A rare thing it is to find the burying-ground 
around a church in England quite neglected, but the 
one at Somersby is the exception to the rule. The 
graves of the poet's father and brother were over- 
grown with grass and showed evidences of long 
neglect. We expressed surprise at this, and the old 
woman who kept the key to the church replied with 
some bitterness that the Tennysons "were ashamed 
to own Somersby since they had become great folks. ' 
Anyway, it seems that the poet never visited the 
place after the family left it in 1837. Near the 
church door was a box with a notice stating that the 
congregation was small and the people poor, and 
asking for contributions to be used in keeping the 
church in repair. One would think that the present 
Lord Tennyson would be interested enough to do 
something towards this, but such does not seem to 
be the case. The grange, near the rectory, is occu- 
pied by the squire who owns the birthplace. It is a 
weatherbeaten building of brick and gray stone and 
perhaps the "gray old grange" referred to in "In 
Memoriam." Altogether, Somersby is one of the 
quietest and most charming of places. Aside from 
its connection with the great poet, it would be well 
worthy of a visit as a bit of rural England. Scattered 

about were several great English elms, which were 

213 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

no doubt large trees during the poet's boyhood, 
nearly a hundred years ago. 

For a long distance our road from Somersby to 
Boston ran on the crest of a hill, from which we had 
a far-reaching view over the lovely Lincolnshire 
country. Shortly after, the road left the hills and we 
found ourselves again in the fen country. Many 
miles before we reached Boston we saw the great 
tower of St. Botolphs Church, in some respects the 
most remarkable in England. They give it the in- 
artistic and inappropriate appellation of "The 
Stump," due to the fact that it rises throughout its 
height of more than three hundred feet without 
much diminution in size. So greatly does this tower 
dominate the old-fashioned city that one is in danger 
of forgetting that there is anything else in Boston, 
and though it is a place little frequented by Amer- 
icans, there are few quainter towns in England. 
Several hundred years ago it was one of the im- 
portant seaports, but it lost its position because the 
river on which it is situated is navigable only by 
small vessels at high tide. 

Boston is of especial interest to Americans on 
account of its great namesake in this country and 
because it was the point from which the Pilgrim 
Fathers made their first attempt to reach America. 
Owing to pestilence and shipwreck, they were com- 
pelled to return, and later they sailed in the May- 

214 



A. ZIG-ZAG TRIP FROM YORK TO NORWICH 

flower on a more successful voyage from Plymouth. 
We can get a pretty good idea of the reasons which 
led the Pilgrim Fathers to brave everything to get 
away from their home land. One may still see in 
the old town hall of Boston the small, windowless 
stone cells where the Fathers were confined during 
the period of persecution against the Puritans. Evi- 
dently they did not lay their sufferings against the 
town itself, or they would hardly have given the 
name to the one they founded in the New World. 
Boston is full of quaint structures, among them Shod- 
friars Hall, one of the most elaborate half-timbered 
buildings in the Kingdom. The hotels are quite in 
keeping with the dilapidation and unprogressiveness 
of the tovm and there is no temptation to linger 
longer than necessary to get an idea of the old Boston 
and its traditions. 

The country through which we traveled next day 
was level and apparently productive farming land. 
The season had been unusually dry and favorable to 
the fen land, as this section is called. The whole 
country between Boston and Norwich has scarcely 
a hill and the numerous drains showed that it is really 
a reclaimed marsh. In this section English farming 
appeared at its best. The crops raised in England 
and Scotland consist principally of wheat, oats and 
various kinds of grasses. Our Indian com will not 

ripen and all I saw of it was a few little garden 

215 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

patches. The fen country faintly reminds one of 
Holland, lying low and dotted here and there with 
huge windmills. As a matter of curiosity, we visited 
one of the latter. The miller was a woman, and 
with characteristic English courtesy she made us ac- 
quainted with the mysteries of the ancient mill, which 
was used for grinding Indian corn for cattle-feed. 

Our route next day was a circuitous one, as there 
were numerous points that we wished to visit before 
coming to Norwich for the night. A broad, level 
road leads from Boston to King's L5nin, a place of 
considerable size. Its beginning is lost in antiquity, 
and a recent French writer has undertaken to prove 
that the first settlement of civilized man in Britain was 
made at this point. We entered the town through 
one of the gateways, which has no doubt been ob- 
structing the main highway for several hundred 
years. It is a common thing in the English towns to 
find on the main street one of the old gates, the open- 
ing through which will admit but one vehicle at a 
time, often making it necessary to station a policeman 
on each side to see that there are no collisions. But 
the gateways have been standing for ages and it 
would be sacrilege to think of tearing them down 
merely to facilitate traffic. Just outside King's Lynn 
we passed Sandringham Palace, one of King Ed- 
ward's residences which I had frequently seen re- 
ferred to without having the slightest idea of its 

216 



A ZIG-ZAG TRIP FROM YORK TO NORWICH 

location. It is a modem country house and one of 
the favorite homes of the Royal Family. 

A few hours through winding byways brought 
us to the village of Burnham Thorpe, the birthplace 
of Admiral Nelson. It is a tiny hamlet, whose 
mean-looking, straggling cottages with red tiles 
lack the artistic beauty of the average English 
village — the picturesque, thatched roofs and brilliant 
flower gardens were entirely wanting. The admiral 
was the son of the village rector, but the parsonage 
in which he was born was pulled down many years 
ago. Still standing, and kept in good repair, is the 
church where his father preached. The lectern, as 
the pulpit-stand in English churches is called, was 
fashioned of oak taken from Nelson's flagship, the 
Victory. The father is buried in the churchyard 
and a memorial to Nelson has been erected in the 
church. The tomb of the admiral is in St. Paul's 
Cathedral in London. 

From Burnham Thorpe on. the way to Norwich 
are the scant ruins of the priory of Walsingham. In 
its palmy days this was one of the richest in the 
world, and it is said that it was visited by more 
pilgrims than was the shrine of Becket at Canter- 
bury. In every instance a gift was expected from 
the visitor, and as a consequence the monks fared 
sumptuously. Among these pilgrims were many of 

the nobility and even kings, including Henry VIII, 

217 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

who, after visiting the priory as a votary in the early 
part of his reign, ordered its complete destruction in 
1539. This order was evidently carried out, for 
only shattered fragments of the ruins remain to show 
how splendid the buildings must once have been. 

Walsingham is an unusually quaint little village, 
with a wonderful, ancient town pump of prodigious 
height and a curious church with a tall spire bent 
several degrees from the perpendicular. Near the 
priory are two springs, styled Wishing Wells, which 
were believed to have miraculous power, the legend 
being that they sprang into existence at the command 
of the Virgin. This illustrates one of the queer and 
not unpleasing features of motoring in England. In 
almost every out-of-the-way village, no matter how 
remote or small and how seldom visited by tourists, 
one runs across no end of quaint landmarks and his- 
toric spots with accompanying incidents and legends. 

Twenty miles more through a beautiful country 
brought us in sight of the cathedral spire of Nor- 
wich. This city has a population of about one 
hundred and twenty thousand and there is a unique 
charm in its blending of the mediaeval and modern. 
It is a progressive city with large business and manu- 
facturing interests, but these have not swept away 
the charm of the old-time town. The cathedral is 
one of the most imposing in England, being mainly 
of Norman architecture and surmounted by a grace- 

218 



'A ZIG-ZAG TRIP FROM YORK TO NORWICH 

ful spire more than three hundred feet in height. 
Norwich also presents the spectacle of a modern 
cathedral in course of building, a thing that we did 
not see elsewhere in England. The Roman Catholic 
Church is especially strong in this section, and under 
the leadership of the Duke of Norfolk has under- 
taken to build a structure that will rival in size and 
splendor those of the olden time. No doubt the 
modern Catholics bear in mind that their ancestors 
built all the great English churches and cathedrals 
and that these were lost to them at the time of the 
so-called Reformation of Henry VIII. Religious 
toleration does not prevail to any such extent in Eng- 
land as in the United States and there is considerable 
bitterness between the various religious sects. 

Speaking of new cathedrals, while several are 
being built by the Roman Catholics, only one is 
under construction by the Church of England — the 
first since the days of the Stuarts. This is at Liver- 
pool and the foundations have barely been begun. 
The design for the cathedral was a competi- 
tive one selected from many submitted by the great- 
est architects in the world. The award was made 
to Gilbert Scott, a young man of only twenty-one 
and a grandson of the famous architect of the same 
name who had so much to do with the restoration of 
several of the cathedrals. The Liverpool church is 

to be the greatest in the Kingdom, even exceeding 

219 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

York Minster and St. Paul's in size. No attempt is 
made to fix the time when the building will be com- 
pleted, but the work will undoubtedly occupy sev- 
eral generations. 

In Norwich we stopped at the Maid's Head 
Hotel, one of the noted old-time English hostelries. 
It has been in business as a hotel nearly five hundred 
years and Queen Elizabeth was its guest while on 
one of her visits to the city of Norwich. Despite its 
antiquity, it is thoroughly up-to-date and was one of 
the most comfortable inns that we found anywhere. 
No doubt this is considerably due to a large modern 
addition, which has been built along the same lines 
as the older portion. Near the cathedral are other 
ancient structures, among which are the two gate- 
ways, whose ruins still faintly indicate their pristine 
splendor of carving and intricate design. The castle, 
at one time a formidable fortress, has almost disap- 
peared. "Tombland" and "Strangers' Hall" are 
the appellations of two of the finest half-timbered 
buildings that we saw. The newer portions of Nor- 
wich indicate a prosperous business town and it is 
supplied with an unusually good street-car system. 
Most of the larger English cities are badly off in this 
particular. York, for instance, a place of seventy- 
five thousand, has but one street-car line, three or 
four miles in length, on which antiquated horse-cars 
are run at irregular intervals. 

220 



XIV 

PETERBOROUGH, POTHERINGHAY, ETC. 

The hundred miles of road that we followed from 
Norwich to Peterborough has hardly the suggestion 
of a hill, though some of it is not up to the usual 
English standard. We paused midway at Dere- 
ham, whose remarkable old church is the only one 
we saw in England that had the bell-tower built 
separate from the main structure, though this same 
plan is followed in Chichester Cathedral. In Dere- 
ham Church is the grave of Cowper, who spent his 
last years in the town. The entire end of the nave 
is occupied by an elaborate memorial window of 
stained glass, depicting scenes and incidents of the 
poet's life and works. To the rear of the church is 
the open tomb of one of the Saxon princesses, and 
near it is a tablet reciting how this grave had been 
desecrated by the monks of Ely, who stole the relics 
and conveyed them to Ely Cathedral. Numerous 
miracles were claimed to have been wrought by the 
relics of the princess, who was famed for her piety. 
The supposed value of these relics was the cause of 
the night raid on the tomb — a practice not uncom- 
mon in the days of monkish supremacy. The bones 

221 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

of saint or martyr had to be guarded with pious care 
or they were likely to be stolen by the enterprising 
churchmen of some rival establishment. Shortly 
afterwards, it would trcinspire that miracles were be- 
ing successfully performed by the relics in the hands 
of the new possessors. 

Ten miles from Peterborough our stock of gaso- 
line rein alarmingly low and the prospect of a walk 
seemed sure, when we unexpectedly came across 
the familiar "motor spirit" sign exhibited from a 
wayside cottage. The young man who sold the 
"motor spirit" — or "petrol," as they call it in Eng- 
land — was quite communicative and we chanced to 
inquire if he owned the cottage. "Own it?" he 
said; "there doesn't anybody own anything about 
here. We all belong, lock, stock and barrel to the 
Duke of Bedford. A man doesn't have any chance 
to own anything or to become anything in this 
country. All of us are the property of the nobility." 
During our stay we heard not a little of such talk, 
and despite the exceeding slowTiess of the English 
people to adopt any reform, it seems to me that this 
spirit is sure, sooner or later, to work the doom of the 
aristocratic system. 

From this point a detour of a few miles enabled 
us to visit Crowland Abbey before reaching Peter- 
borough. It is a remarkable ruin, rising out of the 

flat fen country, as someone has said, "like a light- 

222 



PETERBOROUGH, FOTHERINGHAY, ETC. 

house out of the sea." Its oddly shaped tower is 
visible for miles, 2ind one wide arch of the nave still 
stands, so light and airy in its gracefulness that it 
seems hardly possible it is built of heavy blocks of 
stone. A portion of the church has been restored 
and is used for services, but a vast deal of work was 
necessary to arrest the settling of the heavy walls on 
their insecure foundations. Another odd relic in 
Crowland is the three-way arched stone bridge dat- 
ing from Saxon times and altogether unique in the 
Kingdom. 

It was late when we left Crowland, and before 
we had replaced a tire casing that, as usual, col- 
lapsed at an inopportune moment, the long English 
twilight had come to an end. The road to Peter- 
borough, however, is level and straight as an arrow. 
The right of way was clear and all conditions gave 
our car opportunity to do its utmost. It was about 
ten o'clock when we reached the excellent station 
hotel in Peterborough. 

Before the advent of the railroad, Peterborough, 
like Wells, was merely an ecclesiastical town, with 
little excuse for existence save its cathedral. In the 
last fifty years, however, the population has in- 
creased five-fold and it has become quite an impor- 
tant trading and manufacturing center. It is situated 
in the midst of the richest farm country in England 
and its annual wool and cattle markets are known 

223 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

throughout the Kingdom. The town dates from the 
year 870, when the first cathedral minster was built 
by the order of one of the British chieftains. The 
present magnificent structure was completed in 1237, 
and so far as appearance is concerned, now stands 
almost as it left the builder's hands. It is without 
tower or spire of considerable height and somewhat 
disappointing when viewed from the exterior. The 
interior is most imposing and the great church is rich 
in historical associations. Here is buried Catherine 
of Aragon, the first queen of Henry VIII, and the 
body of the unfortunate Queen of Scots was brought 
here after her execution at Fotheringhay. King 
James I, when he ceime to the throne, removed his 
mother's remains to Westminster Abbey, where 
they now rest. 

Strangely enough, the builders of the cathedral 
did not take into consideration the nature of the soil 
on which they reared the vast structure, and as a 
consequence, a few years ago the central tower of 
the building began to give way and cracks appeared 
in the vaulting and walls. Something had to be 
done at once, and at the cost of more than half a 
million dollars the tower was taken down from top 
to foundation, every stone being carefully marked 
to indicate its exact place in the walls. The foun- 
dations were carried eleven feet deeper, until they 
rested upon solid rock, and then each stone was re- 

224 



PETERBOROUGH, FOTHERINGHAY, ETC. 

placed in its original position. Restoration is so 
perfect that the beholder would never know the 
tower had been touched. This incident gives an 
idea of how the cathedrals are now cared for and 
at what cost they are restored after ages of neglect 
and destruction. 

Peterborough was stripped of most of its images 
and carvings by Cromwell's soldiers and its windows 
are modern and inferior. Our attention was at- 
tracted to three or four windows that looked much 
like the crazy-quilt work that used to be in fashion. 
We were informed that these were made of frag- 
ments of glass that had been discovered and patched 
together without any effort at design, merely to pre- 
serve them and to show the rich tones and colorings 
of the original windows. The most individual 
feature of Peterborough is the three great arches 
on the west, or entrance, front. These rise nearly 
two-thirds the height of the frontage and it is fully a 
hundred feet from the ground to the top of the 
pointed arches. The market square of Peterborough 
was one of the largest we had seen, comprising sev- 
eral acres — another evidence of the agricultural im- 
portance of the town. Aside from the cathedral 
there is not much of interest, but if one could linger 
a few days a number of trips might be made into the 
surrounding country. 

The village of Fotheringhay is only nine miles to 
225 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

the west. We resolved to visit this, although several 
miles off our direct route. The melancholy con- 
nection of this little hamlet w^ith the Queen of Scots 
brings many visitors to it every year, although there 
are few relics of Mary and her lengthy imprisonment 
now remaining. Here we came the next morning 
after a short time on winding and rather hilly by- 
ways. It is an unimportant looking place, this 
sleepy little village where three hundred years ago 
Mary fell a victim to the machinations of her rival, 
Elizabeth. The most notable building now stand- 
ing is the quaint inn where the judges of the un- 
fortunate queen made their headquarters during her 
farcical trial. Of the gloomy castle, where the fair 
prisoner languished for nineteen long years, nothing 
remains except a shapeless mass of stone and traces 
of the moat which surrounded it. King James, by 
the destruction of the castle, endeavored to show 
fitting respect to the memory of his mother and no 
doubt hoped to wipe out the recollection of his 
friendly relations with Queen Elizabeth after she 
had caused the death of Mary. 

The school children of Fotheringhay seemed 
quite familiar with its history and on the lookout for 
strangers who come to the place. Two or three of 
them quickly volunteered to conduct us to the site of 
the castle. There was nothing to see after we got 

there, but our small guides were thankful for the 
, 226 



PETERBOROUGH, FOTHERINGHAY, ETC. 

fee, which they no doubt had in mind from the first. 
Mournful and desolate indeed seemed the straggling 
little village where three centuries ago "a thousand 
witcheries lay felled at one stroke," one of the 
crudest and most pitiful of the numberless tragedies 
which disfigure the history of England. 

From Fotheringhay we returned to the York road 
and followed it northward for about twenty miles. 
We passed through Woolsthorpe, an unattractive 
little town whose distinction is that it was the birth- 
place of Sir Isaac Newton. The thatched roof 
farmhouse where he was born is still standing on 
the outskirts of the village. At Grantham, a little 
farther on, we stopped for lunch at the "Royal and 
Angel" Hotel, one of the most charming of the old- 
time inns. Like nearly all of these old hostelries, it 
has its tradition of a royal guest, having offered 
shelter to King Charles I when on his endless wan- 
derings during the Parliamentary wars. It is a de- 
lightful old building, overgrown with ivy, and its 
diamond-paned lattice windows, set in walls of time- 
worn stone, give evidence to its claims to antiquity. 

We had paused in Grantham on our way to Bel- 
voir Castle, about six miles away, the seat of the 
Duke of Rutland. This is one of the finest as well 
as most strikingly situated of the great baronial resi- 
dences in England. Standing on a gently rising hill, 
its many towers and battlements looking over the 

227 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

forests surrounding it, this vast pile more nearly 
fulfilled our ideas of feudal magnificence than any 
other we saw. It is famous for its picture gallery, 
which contains many priceless originals by Gaines- 
borough, Reynolds and others. It has always been 
open to visitors every week-day, but it chanced at 
the time that the old duke was dangerously ill — so 
ill, in fact, that his death occurred a little later on — 
and visitors were not admitted. We were able to 
take the car through the great park, which affords 
a splendid view of the exterior of the castle. 

Near by is the village of Bottisford, whose re- 
markable church has been the burial place of the 
Manners family for five hundred years and contains 
some of the most complete monumental effigies in 
England. These escaped the wrath of the Crom- 
wellians, for the Earl of Manners was an adherent 
of the Protector. In the market square at Bottis- 
ford stand the old whipping-post and stocks, 
curious relics of the days when these instruments 
were a common means of satisfying justice — or what 
was then considered justice. They were made of 
solid oak timbers and had withstood the sun and 
rain of two or three hundred years without showing 
much sign of decay. Although the whipping-post 
and stocks used to be common things in English 
towns, we saw them preserved only at Bottisford. 

On leaving Bottisford, our car dashed throu^ 

228 



PETERBOROUGH, FOTHERINGHAY, ETC. 

the clear waters of a little river which runs through 
the town and which no doubt gave it the name. 
We found several instances where no attempt had 
been made to bridge the streams, which were still 
forded as in primitive times. In a short time we 
reached Newark, where we planned to stop for the 
night — but it turned out otherwise. According to 
the guide-book, the Clinton Arms was the best hotel 
in the town, and this was confirmed by the police- 
man of whom we made inquiries. We were offered 
our choice of several dingy rooms, but a glance at 
the time-worn furnishing and unattractive beds con- 
vinced us that if this were Newark's best hotel we 
did not care to spend the night in Newark. To the 
profound disgust of the landlady — nearly all hotels 
in England are managed by women — we took our 
car from the garage and sought more congenial 
quarters, leaving, I fear, anything but a pleasant 
impression behind us. We paused a few minutes 
at the castle, which is the principal object of an- 
tiquity in Newark. It cut considerable figure in 
history, as King John died there — the best thing he 
ever did — and it sustained many sieges until it was 
finally destroyed by the Parliamentarians — pretty 
eflFectively destroyed, for there is little remaining ex- 
cept the walls fronting immediately on the river. 

Though it was quite late, we decided to go on to 
Nottingham, about twenty miles farther, where we 

229 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

could be sure of good accommodation. It seemed 
easy to reach the city before dark, but one can hard- 
ly travel on schedule with a motor car — at least so 
long as pneumatic tires are used. An obstinate case 
of tire trouble just as we got outside of Newark 
meant a delay of an hour or more, and it was after 
sunset before we were again started on our journey. 
There is a cathedral at Southwell, and as we per- 
mitted no cathedral to escape us, we paused there 
for a short time. It is a great country church of very 
unusual architecture, elevated to the head of a dio- 
cese in 1888. The town of Southwell is a retired 
place of evident antiquity and will be remembered 
as having been the home of Lord Byron for some 
time during his youth. The road which led to 
Nottingham was one of the crookedest and hilliest 
that we had encountered, and we took rather long 
chances in dashing around some of the sharp corners. 
Fortunately, the way was clear and we came into 
the suburbs of Nottingham soon after dark. 

Our route south from Nottingham was over a 
splendid and nearly level road that passed through 
Leicester, one of the most up-to-date business towns 
in the Kingdom. I do not remember any place 
outside of London where streets were more con- 
gested with all kinds of traffic. The town is of great 
antiquity, but its landmarks have been largely wiped 

out by the modern progress it has made. We did 

230 



PETERBOROUGH, FOTHERINGHAY, ETC. 

not pause here, but directed our way to Lutter- 
worth, a few miles farther, where the great reformer, 
John Wyclif, made his home, the famous theologian 
who translated the bible into English and printed 
it two hundred years before the time of Martin 
Luther. This act, together with his fearless preach- 
ing, brought him into great disfavor with the 
church, but owing to the protection of Edward 
III, who was especially friendly to him, he was able 
to complete his work in spite of fierce opposition. 
Strangely enough, considering the spirit of his time, 
Wyclif withstood the efforts of his enemies, lived to 
a good old age, and died a natural death. Twenty 
years afterward the Roman Church again came into 
power and the remains of the reformer were burned 
in the public square of Lutterworth. To still 
further cover his memory with obloquy, the ashes 
were thrown into the clear, still, little river that we 
crossed on leaving the town. But his enemies found 
it too late to overthrow the work he had begun. His 
church, a large, massive building with a great, 
square-topped tower, stands today much as it did 
when he used to occupy the pulpit, which is the 
identical one from which he preached. A bas- 
relief in white marble by the American sculptor. 
Story, commemorating the work of Wyclif, has 
been placed in the church at a cost of more than 

ten thousand dollars, and just outside a tall granite 

231 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

obelisk has been erected in his honor. In cleaning 
the walls recently, it was discovered that under sev- 
eral coats of paint there were some remarkable 
frescoes which, being slowly uncovered, were found 
to represent scenes in the life of the great preacher 
himself. 

Leaving Lutterworth, we planned to reach Cam- 
bridge for the night. On the way we passed 
through Northampton, a city of one hundred thou- 
sand and a manufacturing place of importance. It 
is known in history as having been the seat of Par- 
liament in the earlier days. A detour of a few miles 
from the main road leaving Northampton brought 
us to Olney, which for twenty years was the home 
of William Cowper. His house is still standing and 
has been turned into a museum of relics of the poet, 
such as rare editions of his books and original manu- 
scripts. The town is a quiet, sleepy-looking place, 
situated among the Buckinghamshire hills. It is still 
known as a literary center and a number of more or 
less noted English authors live there at the present 
time. 

Bedford, only a few miles farther on the Cam- 
bridge road, was one of the best-appearing English 
towns of the size we had seen anywhere — with hand- 
some residences and fine business buildings. It is 
more on the plan of American towns, for its buildings 
are not ranged along a single street as is the rule in 

232 



PETERBOROUGH, FOTHERINGHAY, ETC. 

England. It is best known from its connection with 
the immortal dreamer, John Bunyan, whose memory 
it now delights to honor. Far different was it in his 
lifetime, for he was confined for many years in Bed- 
ford Jail and it was during this imprisonment that he 
wrote his "Pilgrim's Progress." At Elstow, a mile 
from Bedford, we saw his cottage, a mean-looking 
little hut with only two rooms. The tenants were 
glad to admit visitors as probable customers for 
postcards and photographs. The bare monotony of 
the place was relieved not a little by the flowers 
which crowded closely around it. 

Cambridge is about twenty miles from Bedford, 
and we did not reach it until after dark. It was 
Week-End holiday, and we found the main street 
packed with pedestrians, through whom we had to 
carefully thread our way for a considerable distance 
before we came to the University Arms. We found 
this hotel one of the most comfortable and best kept 
of those whose hospitality we enjoyed during our 
tour. It is a favorite resort for Americans; the 
register showed that they constituted more than two- 
thirds of the guests at the time of our arrival. 

Cambridge is distinctively a university town. 

One who has visited Oxford and gone the rounds 

will hardly care to make a like tour of Cambridge 

unless he is especially interested in English college 

affairs. It does not compare with Oxford, either in 

233 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

importance of colleges or number of students. It is 
a beautiful place, lying on a river with long stretches 
of still water where the students practice rowing. 
Both the town and its atmosphere impressed me as 
being very different from the American university 
town. From my cursory observation of Cambridge 
and Oxford, I could not conceive why any Ameri- 
can youth should wish to attend one of these rather 
than some good college in his native land. I could 
not help but feel that if I were to take a college 
course again, I would not spend the time in an Eng- 
lish university if I might do so totally without ex- 
pense. The students who make such an effort to 
secure English scholarships, it seems to me, get very 
little real value for their pains. Aside from the uni- 
versal drunkenness in the English universities, a 
young man will get out of touch with American 
institutions and American ways of doing things — 
a most serious result of spending two or three years 
in these schools. 



234 



XV 

THE CROMWELL COUNTRY. COLCHESTER. 

A distinguished observer. Prof. Goldwin Smith, 
expressed it forcibly when he said that the epitaph 
of nearly every ruined castle in Britain might be 
written, "Destroyed by Cromwell," It takes a tour 
such as ours to gain something of a correct concep- 
tion of the gigantic figure of Oliver Cromwell in 
English history. The magnitude and the far-reach- 
ing results of his work are coming to be more and 
more appreciated by the English people. For a 
time he was considered a traitor and regicide, but 
with increasing enlightenment and toleration, his 
real work for human liberty is being recognized by 
the great majority of his countrymen. It was only 
as far back as 1890 that Parliament voted down a 
proposition to place a statue of Cromwell on the 
grounds of the House of Commons; but two years 
later sentiment had advanced so much that justice 
was done to the memory of the great Protector and 
a colossal bronze figure was authorized and erected. 
I know of no more impressive sight in all England 
than this great statue, standing in solitary grandeur 

near the Houses of Parliament, representing Crom- 

236 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

well with sword and bible, and with an enormous 
lion crouching at his feet. It divides honor 
with no other monument in its vicinity and it 
seems to stand as a warning to kingcraft that it must 
observe well defined limitations if it continues in 
Britain. I saw several other statues of Cromwell, 
notably at Manchester, Warrington and at St. Ives. 

An incident illustrating the sentiment with which 
the Protector is now regarded by the common 
people came under my own observation. With a 
number of other sightseers, we were visiting War- 
wick Castle and were being shown some of the por- 
traits and relics relating to Cromwell, when the 
question was raised by someone in the party as to 
his position in English history. A young fellow, 
apparently an aspirant for church honors, expressed 
the opinion that Cromwell was a traitor and the 
murderer of his king. He was promptly taken to 
task by the old soldier who was acting as our guide 
through the castle. He said, "Sir, I can not agree 
with you. I think we are all better off today that 
there was such a man as Cromwell." 

That appears to be the general sentiment of the 

people of Great Britain, and the feeling is rapidly 

growing that he was distinctly the defender of the 

people's rights. True, he destroyed many of the 

historic castles, but such destruction was a military 

necessity. These fortresses, almost without excep- 

236 



THE CROMWELL COUNTRY, COLCHESTER 

tion, were held by supporters of King Charles, who 
used them as bases of operation against the Parlia- 
mentary Army. If not destroyed when captured, 
they were re-occupied by the Royalists and the work 
had to be done over again. Therefore Cromwell 
wisely dismantled the strongholds when they came 
into his possession, and generally he did his work 
so well that restoration was not possible, even after 
the Royalists regained power. The few splendid 
examples which escaped his wrath — notably War- 
wick Castle — fortunately happened at the time to be 
in possession of adherents of Parliament. The 
damage Cromwell inflicted upon the churches was 
usually limited to destruction of stone images, tombs 
and altars, as savoring of idolatry. This spirit even 
extended to the destruction of priceless stained-glass 
windows, the loss of which we can not too greatly 
deplore, especially since the very art of making this 
beautiful glass seems to be a lost one. 

At Cambridge we were within easy reach of the 
scenes of the Protector's early life. He was born 
in 1599 at Huntingdon, sixteen miles distant, and 
was twenty years a citizen of St. Ives, only a few 
miles away. He was a student at Cambridge and 
for several years was a farmer near Ely, being a ten- 
ant on the cathedral lands. As Ely is only fifteen 
miles north of Cambridge, it occurred to us to attend 

services at the cathedral there on Sunday morning. 

237 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

We followed a splendid road leading through a 
beautiful country, rich with fields of grain almost 
ready for harvest. 

The cathedral is one of the largest and most re- 
markable in England, being altogether different in 
architecture from any other in the Kingdom. In- 
stead of a spire, it has a huge, castellated, octagonal 
tower, and while it was several hundred years in 
building, a harmonious design was maintained 
throughout, although it exhibits in some degree al- 
most every style of church architecture known in 
England. Ely is an inconsequential town of about 
seven thousand inhabitants and dominated from 
every point of view by the huge bulk of the cathe- 
dral. Only a portion of the space inside the vast 
building was occupied by seats, and though the 
great church would hold many thousands of people 
if filled to its capacity, the congregation was below 
the average that might be found in the leading 
churches of an American town the size of Ely. One 
of the cathedral officials with whom I had a short 
talk said that the congregations averaged small in- 
deed and were growing smaller right along. The 
outlook for Ely he did not consider good, a bill 
having been introduced into Parliament to cut an- 
other diocese from the territory and to make a 
cathedral, probably of the great church, at Bury 
St. Edmunds. In recent years this policy of creat- 

288 



THE CROMWELL COUNTRY, COLCHESTER 

ing new dioceses has been in considerable vogue in 
England, and of course is distasteful to the sections 
immediately affected. The services in Ely Cathe- 
dral were simpler than usual and were through well 
before noon. 

Before returning to Cambridge we visited St. 
Ives and Huntingdon, both of which were closely 
associated with the life of Cromwell. The former 
is a place of considerable antiquity, although the 
present town may be said to date from 1689, at 
which time it was rebuilt after being totally de- 
stroyed by fire. One building escaped, a quaint 
stone structure erected in the center of the stone 
bridge crossing the River Ouse and supposed to 
have been used as a chapel by the early monks. 
Cromwell's connection with St. Ives began in 1 628, 
after he had been elected to Parliament. He moved 
here after the dissolution of that body and spent 
several years as a farmer. The house which he 
occupied has disappeared and few relics remain o'^ 
his residence in the town. In the market square is 
a bronze statue of the Protector, with an inscription 
to the effect that he was a citizen of St. Ives for 
several years. A few miles farther on is Hunting- 
don, his birthplace. It is a considerably larger town, 
but none of the buildings now standing has any 
connection with the life of the Protector. Doubtless 

the citizens of Huntingdon now recognize that the 

239 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

manor house where Cromwell was born, which was 
pulled down a hundred years ago, would be a valu- 
able asset to the town were it still standing. 

From Huntingdon we returned to Cambridge, 
having completed a circular tour of about sixty miles. 
We still had plenty of time to drive about Cam- 
bridge and to view from the outside the colleges 
and other places of interest. The streets are laid 
out in an irregular manner, and although it is not 
a large city — only forty thousand — we had con- 
siderable difficulty in finding our way back to the 
hotel. The University Arms is situated on the edge 
of a large common called "The Field." Here in 
the evening were several open-air religious services. 
One of these was conducted by the Wesleyans, or 
Methodists, with a large crowd at the beginning, 
but a Salvation Army, with several band instru- 
ments, soon attracted the greater portion of the 
crowd. We found these open-air services held in 
many towns through England and Scotland. They 
were always conducted by "dissenting churches" — 
the Church of England would consider such a pro- 
ceeding as too undignified. 

We wished to get an early start from Cambridge 
next morning, hoping to reach London that night, 
and accordingly made arrangements with the head 
waiter for an early breakfast. We told him we 
should probably want it at 7:30, and he looked at 

240 



THE CROMWELL COUNTRY, COLCHESTER 

US in an incredulous manner. I repeated the hour, 
thinking he did not understand, but he said he 
thought at first we were surely joking. However, 
he would endeavor to accommodate us. If we 
would leave our order that evening, he thought he 
could arrange it at the time desired, but we could 
easily see that it was going to upset the traditions of 
the staid hotel, for the breakfast hour is never earlier 
than nine o'clock. However, we had breakfast at 
7:30 and found one other guest in the room — un- 
doubtedly an American. He requested a news- 
paper and was informed that the morning papers 
were not received at the hotel until half past ten 
o'clock, although Cambridge is just fifty miles from 
London, or about an hour by train. The curiosity 
which the average American manifests to know what 
happened on the day previous is almost wanting in 
the staid and less excitable Britisher. 

We were away from Cambridge by nine o'clock 
and soon found ourselves in a country quite different 
in appearance from any we had yet passed through. 
Our route led through Essex to Colchester on the 
coast. We passed through several ancient towns, 
the first of them being Haverhill, which contributed 
a goodly number of the Pilgrim Fathers and gave 
its name to the town of Haverhill in Massachusetts. 

It is an old, straggling place that seems to be little 

241 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

in harmony with the progress of the Twentieth 
Century. 

Our road on leaving Haverhill led through nar- 
row byways which wound among the hills with 
turns so sharp that a close lookout had to be main- 
tained. We paused at Heddingham, where there 
is a great church and a partly-ruined Nor- 
man castle. The town is made up largely of 
cottages with thatched roofs, surrounded by the 
bright English flower gardens. It was typical of 
several other places which we passed on our way. 
I think that in no section of England did we find a 
greater number of picturesque churches than in Es- 
sex, and a collection of photographs of these, which 
was secured at Earl's Colne, we prize very highly. 

Colchester is an interesting tovm, deserving of 
much longer time than we were able to stay. It de- 
rived its name from King Cole, the "merry old soul" 
of the familiar nursery rhyme. It is one of the oldest 
towns in England and was of great importance in 
Roman times. One of the largest collections of 
Roman relics in Britain is to be found in the mu- 
seum of the castle. There are hundreds of specimens 
of coin, pottery, jewelry, statuary, etc., all of which 
were found in excavations within the city. The 
castle is one of the gloomiest and rudest in the King- 
dom, and was largely built of Roman bricks. It 
was built in the shape of a square with high walls 

242 



THE CROMWELL COUNTRY, COLCHESTER 

from twenty to thirty feet thick surrounding a small 
court. About a hundred years ago it was sold to a 
contractor who planned to tear it down for the 
material, but after half completing his task he gave it 
up, leaving enough of the old fortress to give a good 
idea of what it was like. 

Colchester suffered terribly in Parliamentary wars 
and only surrendered to Cromwell after sustaining 
a seventy-six day siege, many traces of which may 
still be seen. There are two or three ancient churches 
dating from Saxon times which exhibit some remark- 
able specimens of Saxon architecture. Parts of Col- 
chester appeared quite modern and up-to-date, the 
streets being beautifully kept, and there were many 
handsome residences. Altogether, there is a strange 
combination of the very old and the modern in 
Colchester. 

Late in the afternoon we left Colchester for Lon- 
don, following a broad, main-traveled highway. 
On this road a cyclist gave us a remarkable exhibi- 
tion of endurance. We were going along at a very 
good pace — about twenty miles an hour — and he 
followed directly behind the car, keeping up with it 
for ten or fifteen miles. No doubt he was enabled 
to do this on account of the reduced resistance of the 
air in closely following our car. 

We left this highway at Chelmsford to visit the 
Greenstead Church near Chipping-Ongar, about. 

243 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

twenty-two miles from London. This is one of the 
most curious churches in all England. It is a diminu- 
tive building, half hidden amidst the profusion of 
foliage, and would hardly attract attention unless 
one had learned of its unique construction and re- 
markable history. It is said to be the only church 
in England which is built with wooden walls, these 
being made from the trunks of large oak trees split 
down the center and roughly sharpened at each end. 
They are raised from the ground by a low, brick 
foundation, and inside the spaces between the trunks 
are covered with pieces of wood. The rough tim- 
ber frame of the roof is fastened with wooden pins. 
The interior of the building is quite dark, there being 
no windows in the wooden walls, and the light 
comes in from a dormer window in the roof. This 
church was built in the year 1010 to mark the resting 
place of St. Edmund the Martyr, whose remains 
were being carried from Bury to London. The 
town of Ongar, near by, once had an extensive 
castle, of which little remains, and in the chancel 
of the church is the grave of Oliver Cromwell's fav- 
orite daughter. A house in High Street was for 
v^ some time the residence of David Livingstone, the 
great African explorer. 

From Chipping-Ongar we followed for the third 
tkne the road leading to London and passing through 
the village of Chigwell, of which I have spoken at 

244 



THE CROMWELL COUNTRY, COLCHESTER 

length elsewhere. Despite the numerous trips which 
we made over this road, I still feel that if I were in 
London again one of the first excursions I should 
take with my car would be over this same delightful 
highway. On coming into London, we found the 
streets in a condition of chaos, owing to repairs in 
the pavement. The direct road was quite impass- 
able and we were compelled to get into the city 
through by-streets — not an easy task. In London 
the streets do not run parallel as in many of our 
American cities. No end of inquiry was necessary 
to get over the ten miles after we were in the city 
before we reached our hotel. It was not very con- 
venient to make inquiries, either, when driving in 
streets crowded to the limit when our car could not 
halt for an instant without stopping the entire pro- 
cession. We would often get into a pocket behind 
a slow-moving dray or street car and be compelled 
to crawl along for several blocks at the slowest speed. 
It was just sunset when we stopped in front of 
the Hotel Russell. We had been absent on our 
tour six weeks to a day and our odometer registered 
exactly 3070 miles. As there were five or six days, 
of the time that we did not travel, we had averaged - 
about six hundred miles a week during the tour.. 
The weather had been unusually fine for England; , 
we had perhaps half a dozen rainy days, but only 
once did it rain heavily. We had now traveled a 

245 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

total of 4100 miles since reaching London and had 
visited the main points of interest in the Kingdom ex- 
cepting those in the country south of the city, where 
we planned a short tour before sailing. We re- 
mained in London a week before starting on this 
trip, but during that time I did not take the car out 
of the garage. I had come to the conclusion that 
outside of Sundays and holidays the nervous strain 
of attempting to drive an automobile in the streets 
of London was such as to make the effort not worth 
while. 



246 



XVI 

THE HAUNTS OF MILTON AND PENN 

Leaving London by the Harrow road, in course 
of an hour we came to the famous college town, 
which lies about fifteen miles north of the city. It 
is known chiefly for its boys' school, which was 
founded early in the reign of Queen Elizabeth and 
at which many great Englishmen received their early 
education. The school is situated on the top of a 
hill, one of the most commanding positions in the 
vicinity of London, and on the very summit is the 
Norman church. The view from this churchyard is 
one of the finest in England. For many miles the 
fertile valley of the Thames spreads out like a great 
park, exhibiting the most pleasing characteristics of 
an English landscape. On one side the descent is 
almost precipitous, and at the edge, in the church- 
yard, stands a gigantic elm — now in the late stages 
of decay — ^which still bears the sobriquet of "By- 
ron's Elm." It is said that Byron, during his days 
at Harrow, would sit here for hours at a time and 
contemplate the beautiful scene which spread out 
before him. A descendant of one of the poet's 
friends has placed near the spot a brass tablet, in- 

247 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

scribed with a quotation from B5T:on's poem referring 
to the view from Harrow Hill. 

We reached Harrow too late to attend church 
as we had hoped, the morning services just closing 
as we entered the churchyard. We saw everywhere 
numbers of students in Sunday garb, cind an odd 
appearance these boys of from fifteen to eighteen 
presented in a costume very nearly the counterpart 
of an ordinary dress suit, usually set off by a high 
silk hat. Harrow is associated with the names of 
many men who attained high rank in English history 
and literature, some of whom strove in their boy- 
hood days to anticipate immortality by carving their 
names on the wooden desks. Among these may 
still be seen the rudely cut letters of the names of 
Byron, Sheridan and Peele. 

The town, which slopes away from the top of the 
hill, has an up-to-date appearance and is a favorite 
place for suburban residences of wealthy Londoners. 
The road leading down the hill from the church 
turned sharply out of view, and just as we were 
beginning the descent a gentleman hastened to us 
and cautioned us not to undertake it. He said that 
numerous motors had been wrecked in the attempt. 
We went down by a roundabout way, but when 
we came to pass the hill at its foot, we found it was 
not nearly so steep as some we had already passed 
over. 

848 



THE HAUNTS OF MILTON AND PENN 

Two or three hours over narrow and generally 
bad roads for England brought us to the village of 
Chalfont St. Giles, where John Milton made his 
residence while writing "Paradise Lost." It is a re- 
tired little place, mere lanes leading into it. The 
shriek of the railroad train does not disturb its 
quietude, the nearest station being several miles 
away. The village doubtless appears much as it did 
in Milton's time, three hundred years ago, and the 
cottage which he occupied stands practically un- 
altered, A notice posted outside stated that the 
cottage would not be shown on Sunday. But such 
announcements had little terror for us by this time, 
and we found no difficulty in gaining admittance to 
the quaint little building. It is in the Elizabethan 
style, with half-timber frame and sagging tile roof. 
The windows have small, diamond-shaped panes 
of leaded glass set in rude iron frames and open on 
a typical English flower garden. The villagers pur- 
chased the cottage by public subscription and its 
preservation is thus fortunately insured. The tenant 
acts as caretaker and apparently takes pride in keep- 
ing the place in order. The poet's room, directly 
on the right when entering, is rather dark, and has a 
low-beamed ceiling. There is a wide fireplace with 
the old time appliances accompanying it, and one 
can imagine the blind poet sitting by his fireside on 
winter days or enjoying the sweetness that in sum- 

249 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

mertime came through the antique windows from 
the flower garden. Here he dictated **PeU*adise 
Lost" to his daughter, who acted as his secretary. 
One can not help contrasting the unsurpassed 
majesty and dignity of the great poem with the 
humble and even rude surroundings of the cottage. 
Milton came here in 1665 to escape the plague 
which was then devastating London. His eldest 
daughter was at that time about seventeen years of 
age, and there is reason to believe that she was with 
him during his stay in St. Giles. We were delighted 
with the place, for we had seen little else more typ- 
ical of old-time England than this cottage, which 
would have been worth seeing aside from its con- 
nection with the great epic poet. In front was the 
garden, a blaze of bright colors, and the walls were 
half hidden by climbing rose-vines in full bloom — 
for the roses in England stay much later in the sum- 
mer than they do with us. The entrance to the 
cottage fronts on the garden. There is no door next 
the street, the great chimney built on the outside 
leaving no room for one. 

We were now in the vicinity where William 
Penn was bom and where he lies buried. We had 
some trouble in finding Jordans, the little meeting- 
house near which is the grave of the Quaker philan- 
thropist. Many of the people of whom we inquired 
did not know of its existence, and after considerable 

S50 



THE HAUNTS OP MILTON AND PBNN 

wandering through the byways we learned that we 
were within a mile of the place. For this distance 
we followed a shady lane, over-arched by trees and 
so ill kept that it was about as rough motoring as 
one will find in England. Directly at the foot of a 
steep hill we came upon the meeting-house, nestling 
in a wooded valley. It had in its plain simplicity 
the appearance of an ordinary cottage; with the 
Quakers there is no such thing as a church, for they 
prefer to call their places of worship simply "meet- 
ing-houses." We were surprised to find a number 
of people about the chapel and soon learned that 
we had the good fortune to arrive on one of the 
meeting days. These meetings had for years been 
held annually, but during the present summer they 
were being held once a month. As the Friends are 
not numerous in this vicinity, many of the congre- 
gation had come from long distances — some from 
London. We learned this in conversation with a 
sweet-faced, quiet-mannered lady who had all the 
Quaker characteristics. She said that she and her 
husband had come from London that day, most of 
the way on their cycles; that they had been in 
Philadelphia and knew something of America. She 
presented us to a benevolent-looking, white-bearded 
man who afterwards proved to be the leader of the 
meeting, simply saying, "Our friends are from Iowa." 

The old gentleman pressed us to remain, as the 

251 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

meeting would begin immediately, and we were de- 
lighted to acquiesce. There were about forty people 
gathered in the little room, which was not more than 
fifteen by twenty feet in size and supplied with the 
plainest straight-backed benches imaginable. It was 
a genuine Quaker meeting. For perhaps half an 
hour the congregation sat in perfect silence, and fin- 
ally the old gentleman who acted as leader arose 
and explained — largely for our benefit, I think, as 
we were the only strangers present — that this was 
the Quaker method of worship. Unless a member 
of the congregation felt he had something really 
worth saying, he waited to speak only "as the Spirit 
moved him." I could not help thinking that I had 
been in many meetings where, if this rule had been 
followed, everybody would have been better off. 
However, in the course of a few minutes he arose 
again and began his talk. We had attended many 
services in England at noted churches and cathe- 
drals, but for genuine Christianity, true brotherly 
love and real inspiration, I think the half hour talk 
of the old Quaker was worth them all. We agreed 
that it was one of our most fortunate experiences. 

In the churchyard we stood before the grave of 
William Penn, marked by the plainest kind of a 
small headstone and identical with the few others 
beside it. We expressed wonder at this, but the 

lady with whom we had previously talked explained 

252 



THE HAUNTS OF MILTON AND PENN 

that it would be inharmonious with the Quaker idea 
to erect a splendid monument to any man. For 
many years the graves had not been marked at all, 
but finally it was decided that it would not be in- 
appropriate to put up plain headstones, all of the 
same style, to let visitors know where the great 
Quaker and his family rest. And very simple were 
the inscriptions chiseled upon the stones. All around 
the meeting-house is a forest of great trees, and no 
other building is in the immediate vicinity. One 
might almost have imagined himself at a Quaker 
service in pioneer times in America, when the meet- 
ing-houses were really as remote and secluded as this 
one seemed, rather than within twenty miles of the 
world's metropolis, in a country teeming with towns 
and villages. 

It was about three o'clock when we left Jordans 
with a view of reaching Oxford, still a good many 
miles away, by nightfall. In this vicinity are the 
Burnham beeches, made known almost everywhere 
by the camera and the brush of the artist. A by- 
way ran directly among the magnificent trees, which 
we found as imposing as the pictures had represented 
— sprawling old trees, many feet in circumference, 
but none of very great height. Near by is Stoke- 
Poges church, whose memory is kept alive by the 
"Elegy" of the poet Gray. It is one of the best 

known of the English country churches and is vi&- 

263 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

ited annually by thousands of people. The poet 
and his relatives are buried in the churchyard and 
the yew tree under which he wrote his poem is still 
standing, green and thriving. The church, half 
covered by ivy and standing against a background 
of fine trees, presents a beautiful picture. In the im- 
mediate neighborhood a monument has been raised 
in memory of Gray — a huge bulk of stone of in- 
artistic and unpleasing design. The most appro- 
priate monument of the poet is the church itself, 
with its yew tree, which is now known wherever 
the English language is spoken. 

Two or three miles farther on is Windsor, with 
its castle, the principal residence of royalty, and 
Eton College, its well known school for boys. This 
school is more exclusive and better patronized than 
Harrow, and I was told that it is quite a difficult 
problem for the average youth to enter at all. The 
sons of the nobility and members of the royal family 
are given the preference and expenses are so high 
as to shut out all but the wealthy. Windsor Castle 
is the most imposing of the royal residences and one 
of the greatest edifices of its kind in the world. It 
is situated on the Thames River, about twenty 
miles from London. Crowning a gently rising hill, 
its massive towers and battlements afford a pict- 
uresque view from almost anywhere in the surround- 
ing country and especially from points of vantage 

254 



THE HAUNTS OF MILTON AND PENN 

in the park, where one can catch glimpses of the 
fortress through some of the avenues of magnificent 
trees. On a clear day, when the towers of the 
castle are sharply outlined against the sky and sur- 
mounted by the brightly colored royal standards, 
one might easily imagine himself back in the good 
old days of knight-errantry. Windsor is shown to 
visitors at any time when the royal family is not in 
residence. Queen Victoria and Albert, the Prince 
Consort, are buried in Frogmore Park, near by, but 
the tombs are sacredly guarded from the public. 
The grounds surrounding the castle are laid out in 
flower gardens and parks, and the forest of more 
than seven thousand acres is the finest in England. 
It is one of the royal preserves where the king occa- 
sionally goes hunting, but it serves very little purpose 
so far as the people generally are concerned. This 
is only one example of the great tracts of land 
throughout the Kingdom that are withdrawn from 
production and shut up for the benefit of nobility 
and royalty — a thing which doubtless contributes to 
the poverty and increasing discontent of the common 
people. 

A broad road leads from Windsor to Oxford; it 
is almost straight and without hills of consequence. 
It is a favorite route for motorists, and we met many 
on the way. At several points were stationed bi- 
cycle couriers of the motor union to give warning 

255 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

of police traps. These guards patrolled the road 
and carried a circular badge, red on one side and 
white on the other. If the white side were shown 
to the passing motorist, the road ahead was clear; 
but the red was a caution for moderate speed for 
several miles. This system, which we found in op- 
eration in many places, is the means of saving motor 
drivers from numerous fines. The bicycle courier 
receives a fee very thankfully and no doubt this con- 
stitutes his source of revenue for service rendered. 

About ten miles from Oxford we passed through 
Henley-on-Thames, famed for the University row- 
ing-matches. Here the river lies in broad stretches 
that afford an ideal place for the contests. The 
Thames is navigable for small steamboats and house- 
boats from London to Oxford, a distance of sixty 
miles, and the shores of the stream througout afford 
scenes of surpassing beauty. Just at sunset the 
towers of Oxford loomed in the distance, and it was 
easy to recognize that of Magdalen College, which 
rises to a height of two hundred feet. Leading to 
the main part of the city were broad, clean streets, 
traversed by an unusually excellent system of electric 
streetcars. Though Oxford is one of the older of 
the English towns, parts of it seemed as up-to-date 
as any we had seen, and the Randolph Hotel com- 
pared favorably with the best we found anywhere. 

The time which a tourist will devote to Oxford 
256 



THE HAUNTS OP MILTON AND PENN 

will depend upon his point of view. To visit the 
forty-four colleges in detail and to give any time to 
each would manifestly require several days — if not 
weeks — and especially would this be true if one 
were interested to any extent in student life in the 
University. Manifestly, people touring England in 
a motor car do not belong to the class described. 
In order to get the most out of the trip, there is a 
constant necessity for moving on. By an economical 
use of time, one may gain a fair idea of Oxford in a 
few hours. This was what we had done on a 
previous trip and consequently we spent little time 
in the city on our second visit, merely remaining over 
night. I think the method we pursued would be 
the most practical for anyone who desires to reach 
the most interesting points of the town in the shortest 
time. We engaged an experienced hack-driver, 
who combined with his vocation the qualities of a 
well informed guide as well. We told him of our 
limited time and asked him to make the most of it 
by taking us about the universities, stopping at such 
as would give us the best idea of the schools and 
of university life. He did this to our satisfaction, 
and as we passed the various institutions his com- 
ments gave us a general idea of each. He stopped 
at some of the more noted colleges, where we often 
found guides who conducted us about the buildings 
and grounds. Perhaps Magdalen College is as in- 

257 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

teresting as any. Its fine quadrangular tower is one 
of the landmarks of the city, and they will tell you 
of the quaint custom that has prevailed for many 
centuries of celebrating May Day morning with 
music from the top of the tower by a choir of boys. 
Magdalen has its parks and gardens, and Addison's 
Walk — a pathway extending for considerable dis- 
tance between an avenue of fine trees beside a clear 
little river — is reputed to have been a haunt of the 
great essayist when a student at the university. 
Next to Magdalen, the most celebrated colleges are 
New College, Christ Church and Merton. At the 
first of these Cecil Rhodes was a student, and the 
great promotor must have had a warm feeling for 
the University, since his bequest has thrown open 
the various colleges to more than a hundred students 
from all parts of the world, but principally from the 
United States. Practically all of the students have 
their quarters in connection with the colleges and 
meals are served in public dining rooms. Student 
life is quite different from that in the United States. 
A system of caste prevails, as everywhere in Eng- 
land. It is said that the Rhodes students are made 
to feel this in many unpleasant ways ; that the sons of 
the English aristocracy treat them as charity students 
and do it in such a manner as to give offense. 

Aside from its colleges, there is much else of inter- 
est in and about Oxford. The castle, of which 

258 



THE HAUNTS OF MILTON AND PENN 

there are scant remains, is one of the very oldest in 
England and has a varied and often stirring history. 
During the Parliamentary War Oxford was one of 
the strongholds of the king and underwent many 
sieges from Cromwell's army — which was respons- 
ible for the final destruction of the castle. As a seat 
of learning, the town dates from the time of Alfred, 
who was born at Wantage, only twenty miles away. 
Naturally, Oxford was always prominent in ecclesi- 
astical affairs and during the reign of Mary the three 
bishops of the English church suffered martyrdom 
there. In one of the public places of the city stands 
a tall Gothic monument commemorating the services 
of these men and incidentally putting severe strictures 
on the "errors" of the Roman church. The lan- 
guage in which this latter clause is stated caused a 
storm of protest when the monument was erected, 
but it had no more effect than did the Catholic 
protest against the iron-clad, anti-Catholic corona- 
tion oath of the king. The Bodleian Library, lo- 
cated in Oxford, is the greatest in England, with 
the exception of the library of the British Museum. 



259 



XVII 

A CHAPTER OF DIVERS PLACES AND EXPERIENCES 

Ten miles north of Oxford is Woodstock, near 
which is Blenheim Palace, the seat of the Dukes 
of Marlborough. This great estate and imposing 
mansion was presented by Act of Parliament to the 
first Duke of Marlborough in recognition of the 
victory which he won over the French at Blenheim. 
While the nation presented the Duke with the estate 
and mansion, it failed to furnish him with any ade- 
quate means of taking care of the gift, and the vast 
expense entailed soon made him land poor. The 
same situation prevailed during two or three suc- 
ceeding generations, and when the present Duke 
came into the title, the old palace was in a fair way 
to be added to the already numerous ruins in 
Britain. This the young Duke sought to prevent 
by importing Consuelo Vanderbilt with several 
millions of American dollars, and people in the vicin- 
ity of Blenheim expected that the palace would im- 
mediately be restored to its old-time splendor. A 
move was actually made in that direction, but the 
Duchess found that even ten millions of dollars could 
be seriously depleted in restoring the palace, and the 

260 




^ 

i?^, 



A CHAPTER OF DIVERS PLACES AND EXPERIENCES 

work was suddenly brought to a finish — at least 
this is the story of the landlady at the White Hart 
Hotel. She spoke of the present Duke in most con- 
temptuous terms and her opinion seemed general 
among the villagers. How well this contempt is 
deserved was made apparent a short time after by 
the quarrel between the Duke and Duchess and 
their subsequent separation. The traditions of 
Blenheim stretch back to the great general in whose 
honor it was built, and to feel the majesty and ap- 
preciate the beauty of the place, one should forget 
all about the present owner and his doings. 

We did not happen at Blenheim on a visitors' 
day and as a consequence had to content ourselves 
with a carriage ride through the park and a view of 
the place from the outside. The park is one of the 
largest in England, but it shows many evidences of 
neglect and slovenly care. Some of the worst look- 
ing cattle I saw in England obstructed the orna- 
mental stone bridge that crosses the stream flowing 
into a large artificial lake within the park. The 
driveways were not kept in the perfect manner that 
is characteristic of the English private park. Despite 
these evidences of neglect, the beauty of the place 
was little impaired. There are some of the finest 
oak trees in England and down by the lake are 
groups of magnificent cedars through whose 
branches the bright water shimmered in the sun- 

261 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

shine. As we circled about the park, the distant 
views of the palace well bore out its reputation of 
being one of the stateliest private homes in the King- 
dom. Our guide pointed out the spot where once 
stood the manor-house of Woodstock, torn down 
about a hundred years ago. In this house Princess 
Elizabeth was held a prisoner for a time by her sister. 
Queen Mary, but it is best known from the story of 
Walter Scott, who located here the principal scenes 
of "Woodstock." The town of Woodstock has a 
long line of traditions, but shows little evidence of 
modern progress. The house said to have been 
the home of the poet Chaucer five or six hundred 
years ago is still pointed out. While Blenheim is 
comparatively modern, it is none the less worthy of 
a visit, and we were unfortunate in being unable to 
gain admission to the palace, as it contains many 
objects of historic interest and a splendid picture 
gallery. 

We returned from Woodstock to Oxford and 
from there directed our course to Wantage, the 
birthplace of King Alfred the Great and, I might 
incidentally remark, the residence of our great 
American, Richard Croker, former chief of Tam- 
many Hall. This latter distinction did not occur 
to us until after we had left the town, and therefore 
we failed to make inquiries as to how Mr. Croker 
is regarded by his fellow-citizens. In this connection, 

262 



A CHAPTER OF DIVERS PLACES AND EXPERIENCES 

soon after I returned I saw an amusing report in a 
newspaper stating that Mr. Croker had brought suit 
against a British magazine for libel on account of 
publishing an article entitled, "Tammany in Eng- 
land," in which the ex-boss was spoken of in an 
uncomplimentary manner. The report stated that 
the case had been settled, the magazine editor pay- 
ing the costs, retracting what he had said and pub- 
lishing an apology for his attack on Mr. Croker. 
Here we have an example of the British idea of the 
sacredness of private character. Mr. Croker while 
in America was almost daily accused by the news- 
papers of every crime in the calendar and never 
thought it worth while to enter a denial. No sooner 
is he fairly established in England than he brings 
suit against a magazine whose charges appear to 
have been of the mildest character. One seldom 
sees in English newspapers the violent attacks on 
individuals and the severe denunciations of public 
men so common in American journals. If the editor 
forgets himself, as in the case of Croker, suit for 
libel is sure to be brought and often proves a serious 
thing. While this to some extent may obstruct the 
freedom of the press, it is nevertheless a relief to 
miss the disgraceful and unwarranted attacks on 
public men that continually fill the columns of many 
American newspapers. 

The road from Oxford to Wantage is a splendid 

263 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

one, running through a beautiful country and bor- 
dered much of the way with ancient trees. Wan- 
tage is a quiet town, lying at the foot of the hills, 
and is chiefly noted as the birthplace of the great 
Saxon king. A granite statue of Alfred stands in 
the market square, representing the king with the 
charter of English liberties in one hand and a battle- 
ax in the other. As he was born more than a 
thousand years ago, there are no buildings now 
standing that were connected with his history. The 
church is probably the oldest building — a fine ex- 
ample of early English architecture. Near it is 
buried the wife of Whittington, "Lord Mayor of 
Londontown." Dr. Butler, the theologian and 
author of "The Analogy," was bom in the town 
and his house is still to be seen. 

From Wantage we directed our course to Read- 
ing, about thirty miles farther on, over a most de- 
lightful road. Leaving Wantage, it runs along the 
crest of the hills, and on either side from the breezy 
uplands, the green fields, dashed with the gold of the 
ripening harvest, stretched away for many miles. 
This was one of the few spots in England where 
the view was unobstructed by fences of any kind, 
and while the average English hedge-row is not un- 
pleasing, the beauty of the landscape in this instance 
certainly did not suffer by its absence. From Kings- 
ton-on-Thames, the perfectly kept road closely fol- 

264 



A CHAPTER OP DIVERS PLACES AND EXPERIENCES 

lowed the river. Reading has a population of about 
one hundred and twenty thousand and is a place of 
considerable business activity. Here we noted an 
aggravated case of stupid carelessness that we fre- 
quently met vsith and which in America would fill 
the hospitals to overflowing. A young girl with a 
baby in charge coolly abandoned it on the street 
railway track while she stopped to watch some men 
who were working with the wires. After several 
horns and gongs had been sounded, she awakened 
enough to the situation to take the cab away. 

From Reading, a few miles through byways 
brought us to Eversley, a retired village five miles 
from a railway station, where the church and 
rectory of Charles Kingsley may be seen. The 
church is picturesquely situated on the hillside, with 
an avenue of fine yew trees leading from the gate to 
the door. The building has been altered a good 
deal since Kingsley was rector, but the pulpit from 
which he preached is practically the same. The 
rectory, which is directly by the church, is a very 
old building, though it has been modernized on the 
side fronting the road. It stands in the midst of a 
group of Scotch firs which were great favorites with 
Kingsley. Their branches almost touch the earth, 
while their huge trunks form a strong contrast with 
the dense green of the foliage. Kingsley and his 
wife are buried in the churchyard on the side nearest 

265 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

the firs. The graves are marked by a simple Runic 
cross in white marble bearing the names, the date, 
and the legend, "God is Love." Eversley and its 
surroundings are thoroughly typical of rural Eng- 
land. A quieter and more retired little place could 
hardly be imagined. One wonders why the great 
novelist and preacher spent so many years of his 
life here. It may have been that the seclusion was 
not a little conducive to his successful literary labors. 
Thirty miles farther over main-traveled highways 
brought us for a second time to Winchester. Here 
we stopped for the night after an unusually long 
run. An early start — for there was nothing to de- 
tain us in Winchester — soon brought us to South- 
ampton, which is known everywhere as a port of 
arrival and departure of great merchant steamers and 
which, aside from its commercial importance, is one 
of the most ancient and interesting cities in the King- 
dom. The most notable relic is a portion of the 
Saxon wall, the part known as the "Arcade," built 
in a series of arches, being the most remarkable. 
Close by, in a little street called Blue Anchor Lane, 
is a house reputed to have been the palace of King 
John and said to be the oldest in England, although 
several others contest that distinction. At the head 
of Blue Anchor Lane is a picturesque Tudor house, 
once the residence of Henry VIII and his queen, 
Anne Boleyn. This is open to visitors and we were 

266 



A CHAPTER OF DIVERS PLACES AND EXPERIENCES 

shown every part of the house by the tenant, who is 
also custodian. With all its magnificence of carved 
oak and wide fireplaces, it must have been a com- 
fortless dwelling measured by more modern ideas. 
Leaving the city, we crossed Southampton Water 
on a steam ferry which was guided by a chain 
stretched from bank to bank. Two or three miles 
to the southward lies Netley, a small village with 
the remains of an abbey dating from the reign of 
Henry I. The road to Netley followed the shore 
closely, but on nearing the village suddenly entered 
an avenue of fine trees which so effectually concealed 
the ruin that we stopped directly opposite the abbey 
to inquire its whereabouts. Leaving the car stand- 
ing in the road, we spent a quarter of an hour wan- 
dering about the ruin and trying to locate the various 
apartments from a hand-book. The custodian here 
did not act as a guide, and we v/ere left to figure 
out for ourselves the various intricacies of nave, refec- 
tory, cloister, etc. Only the ivy-covered walls of 
the building are now standing, but these are in an 
unusual state of completeness. The chapel or 
church was cruciform in shape and built in the early 
English style. The walls of the west end have 
practically disappeared, but the great east window 
is fairly well preserved and its most remarkable 
feature is its two beautifully proportioned lights, the 
stone tracery of which remains almost intact. A 

267 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

legend in connection with this abbey no doubt grew 
out of the desire of some of the people to prevent the 
destruction of the beautiful building. After the 
abbey had been dismantled, the church was sold 
to a contractor, who proceeded to tear it down for 
the material. He was warned in a dream by the 
appearance of a monk not to proceed with the work, 
but disregarded the warning and was killed by the 
falling of a portion of the wall. If incidents of this 
kind had happened more frequently, England would 
no doubt be richer in historic buildings. 

We were preparing to leave Netley when a man 
in plain clothes approached us, and civilly touching 
his hat, inquired if I were the owner of the motor car. 
I confessed that I was and he stated he was an officer 
and regretted that he would have to report me to the 
police captain for leaving the car standing on a public 
walk. I had inadvertantly left the machine so that 
it partially obstructed the narrow gravel walk along- 
side the road, and some of the citizens had no doubt 
complained to the officer. We were naturally 
enough much chagrinned, not knowing how much 
inconvenience and delay this incident might cause. 
The constable took my name and the number of 
the car and said I could report the circumstance 
myself to the captain of police. I desired him to 
accompany me to call on this dignitary, but he did 
not seem at all anxious for the job. 

268 



A CHAPTER OP DIVERS PLACES AND EXPERIENCES 

This is the general procedure in England. An 
arrest is very seldom made in a case of this kind. 
The officer simply takes the name and number and 
the motorist can call on the proper official himself. 
The police system is so perfect that it would be 
quite useless to attempt to run away, as would happen 
if such a system were pursued in this country. If, 
in the judgment of the police official, the case should 
come to trial, a summons is served on the offender 
and the date is set. This is what I feared might 
happen in this case, and as it was within a week of 
our sailing time, I could imagine that it might cause 
a great deal of inconvenience. 

I found the police captain's office in a neatly kept 
public building with a flower garden in front of it. 
I put the case to the captain, and after he had learned 
all the particulars he hastened to assure me that he 
would waive prosecution of the offense. He said 
some of the people in Netley were prejudiced against 
motors and no doubt were annoyed by the numerous 
tourists who came there to visit the abbey. Thus 
all the difficulties I had conjured up faded away 
and I had a pleasant conversation with the captain, 
who was a thorough gentleman. He said that the 
motor car was detested by many people, and no 
doubt with reason in some cases ; but it had come to 
stay and forbearance and common sense were needed 
on part of motorist and the public generally. Much 

269 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

of the trouble, he stated, is due to reckless motorists 
who disregard the rights of other people. The 
week previous they had considerable difficulty in his 
district with an American who drove his car reck- 
lessly and defied regulations, and it was such per- 
formances that were responsible for the prejudice 
against the car. This incident was my only per- 
sonal experience with the British police in official 
capacity, barring a friendly admonition from one or 
two London "Bobbies" when I managed to get on 
the right side of the road — which is literally the 
wrong side in Britain. 

The English police, taken as a whole, is unques- 
tionably the most efficient and best disciplined in the 
world. A policeman's authority is never questioned 
in England and his raised hand is a signal that never 
goes unheeded. He has neither club nor revolver 
and seldom has need for these weapons. He is an 
encyclopaedia of information, and the cases where 
he lent us assistance both in directing us on our road 
and informing us as to places of interest, literally 
numbered hundreds. He is a believer in fair play 
and seldom starts out of his own accord to make 
anyone trouble. It is not the policemen, but the 
civil officials who are responsible for the police traps 
which in many places are conducted in a positively 
disreputable manner, the idea being simply to raise 
revenue regardless of justice and without discrim- 

270 



A CHAPTER OF DIVERS PLACES AND EXPERIENCES 

ination among the offenders. Graft among British 
policemen is unknown and bribery altogether un- 
heard of. Of course their task is easier than that 
of the average American policeman, on account of 
the greater prevalence of the law-abiding spirit among 
the people. One finds policemen everywhere. 
Even the country districts are carefully patrolled. 
The escape of a law-breaker is a difficult if not 
impossible thing. Nobody hears in England of a 
motorist running away and leaving the scene of an 
accident that he has caused. Another thing that 
greatly helps the English policeman in his work is 
that a captured criminal is not turned loose again 
as is often the case in this country. Justice is surer 
and swifter in England, and as a consequence crime 
averages less than in most parts of the States. The 
murders committed yearly in Chicago outnumber 
many times those of London, which is three times as 
large. The British system of administering justice 
is one that in many particulars we could imitate to 
advantge in this country. 

After bidding farewell to my friend the police 
captain and assuring him I was glad that our ac- 
quaintance terminated so quickly and happily, we 
proceeded on our way towards Chichester. The 
road for a distance of twenty-five miles led through 
an almost constant succession of towns and was 
frightfully dusty. The weather was what the 

271 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

natives call "beastly hot," and really was as near 
an approach to summer as we had experienced so far. 

The predominating feature of Chichester is its 
cathedral, which dates from about 1 1 00. It suf- 
fered repeatedly from fires and finally underwent 
complete restoration, beginning in 1848. The de- 
tached bell-tower is peculiar to this cathedral. This, 
although the most recent part of the building, ap- 
peared to be crumbling away and was undergoing 
extensive repairs. The cathedral is one of lesser 
importance among the great English churches, 
though on the whole it is an imposing edifice. 

At Chichester we stopped for lunch at the Dolphin 
Hotel, just opposite the cathedral, where we had an 
example of the increasing tendency of hotel managers 
to recoup their fortunes by special prices for the 
benefit of tourists. On entering the dining room we 
were confronted with large placards conveying the 
cheerful information that luncheon would cost five 
shillings, or about $1.25 each. Evidently the man- 
ageress desired the victims to be prepared for the 
worst. There was another party in the dining room, 
a woman with five or six small children, and a 
small riot began when she was presented with a bill 
of five shillings for each of them. The landlady, 
clad in a low-necked black dress with long sweep- 
ing train, was typical of many we saw in the old- 
country hotels. She received her guest's protest 

272 



A CHAPTER OF DIVERS PJ.ACES AND lOXPERIBNCES 

with the utmost hauteur, and when we left the 
altercation was still in progress. It was a common 
thing in many of the dingiest and most unpreten- 
tious hotels to find numbers of women guests elabor- 
ately dressed for dinner in the regulation low neck 
and long train. In many cases the example was 
set by the manageress and her assistants, though 
their attire not infrequently was the worse for long 
and continuous use. 

Directly north of Chichester lie the picturesque 
hills of Surrey, which have not inaptly been described 
as the play-ground of London. The country 
around Chichester is level bordering on the coast. 
A few miles to the north it becomes rough and 
broken. About twenty miles in this direction is 
Haselmere, noted for its associations with George 
Eliot and Tennyson. This, together with the pic- 
turesque character of the country, induced us to turn 
our course in that direction, although we found a 
number of steep hills that were as trying as any we 
had met with. On the way we passed through Mid- 
hurst, one of the quaintest of Surrey towns, situated 
on a hill so steep and broken as to be quite dangerous. 
Not far from this place is the home of Richard 
Cobden, the father of English free trade, and he is 
buried in the churchyard near the town. He was 
evidently held in high regard in his time, for his 
house, which is still standing, was presented him by 

273 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

the nation. Among the hills near the town are 
several stately English country houses, and about 
half a mile distant are the ruins of Cowdray mansion, 
which about a hundred years ago was one of the 
most pretentious of all. There was an old tradition 
which said that the house and family should perish 
by fire and water, and it was curiously enough ful- 
filled when the palace burned and the last lord of 
the family was drowned on the same day. 



274 



XVIII 

IN SURREY AND SUSSEX 

Twenty miles over a narrow road winding among 
the hills brought us to Shottermill, where George 
Eliot spent much of her time after 1871 — a pleasant 
little hamlet clinging to a steep hillside. The main 
street of the village runs up the hill from a clear, 
little, unbridged stream, over whose pebbly bottom 
our car dashed unimpeded, throwing a spray of water 
to either side. At the hilltop, close to the church, 
is the old-fashioned, many-gabled cottage which 
George Eliot occupied as a tenant and where she 
composed her best known story, "Middlemarch." 
The cottage is still let from time to time, but the 
present tenant was away and the maid who answered 
us declined to show the cottage in her mistress' 
absence — a rather unusual exhibition of fidelity. 
The village, the surrounding country, and the charm- 
ing exterior of the cottage, with its ivy and climbing 
roses, were quite enough to repay us for coming, 
though we were denied a glimpse of the interior. 

Haselmere is only a mile distant — a larger and 
unusually fine-looking town with a number of good 
hotels. It is a center for tourists who come from 

275 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

London to the Hindhead District — altogether one 
of the most frequented sections of England. The 
country is wild and broken, but in late summer and 
autumn it is ablaze with yellow gorse and purple 
heather and the hills are covered with the graceful 
Scotch firs. All about are places of more or less 
interest and a week could be spent in making excur- 
sions from Haselmere as a center. This country 
attracted Tennyson, and here he built his country 
seat, which he called Aldworth. George Eliot 
often visited him at this place. The house is sur- 
rounded by a park and the poet here enjoyed a 
seclusion that he could not obtain in his Isle of Wight 
home. Aldworth is not shown to visitors, but we 
saw in the window of a real estate man in Haselmere 
a large photograph of the house, with a placard 
announcing that it was to be "let, furnished" — an 
opportunity that one would think would not long 
go begging. 

Much as we wished to tarry in this vicinity, our 
time was so limited that we were compelled to 
hasten on. It Vv^as nearly dark when we reached 
Arundel, whose castle, the residence of the Duke of 
Norfolk, was the stateliest private mansion we saw 
in England. The castle had been almost disman- 
tled by Cromwell's troops, but nearly a hundred 
years ago the restoration was begun by the then 
Duke of Norfolk, It was carried out as nearly as 

276 



IN SURREY AND SUSSEX 

possible along the lines of the old fortress, but much 
of the structure was rebuilt, so that it presents, as 
a whole, an air of newness. The great park, one of 
the finest in England, is open to visitors, who may 
walk or drive about at will. The road into the 
town led through this park for many miles. Bor- 
dered on both sides by ancient trees and winding 
between them in graceful curves, it was one of the 
most beautiful that we had seen anywhere. 

We had planned to stop at Arundel, but the 
promise in our guide-books of a "level and first- 
class" road to Brighton, and the fact that a full 
moon would light us, determined us to proceed. It 
proved a pleasant trip; the greater part of the way 
we ran along the ocean, which sparkled and shim- 
mered as it presented a continual vista of golden- 
hued water stretching away toward the moon. It 
was now early in August; the English twilights were 
becoming shorter, and for the third time it was neces- 
sary to light the gas-lamps. We did not reach the 
hotel in Brighton until after ten o'clock. 

Brighton is probably the most noted seaside resort 
in England — a counterpart of our American Atlantic 
City. It is fifty miles south of London, within easy 
reach of the metropolis, and many London business 
men live here, making the trip every day. The 
town has a modern appearance, having been built 
within the past hundred years, and is more regularly 

277 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

laid out than the average English city. For two 
or three miles fronting the beach there is a row of 
hotels, some of them most palatial. The Grand, 
where we stopped, was one of the handsomest we 
saw in England. It had an excellent garage in 
connection and the large number of cars showed 
how important this branch of hotel-keeping had 
become. There is no motor trip more generally 
favored by Londoners than the run to Brighton. 
A level and nearly straight road connects the two 
cities and, as I stated before, is a favorite field for 
police traps. There is nothing in Brighton to detain 
a tourist who is chiefly interested in historic Eng- 
land. We planned to get away early the next morn- 
ing, but that bete noir of motoring, tire trouble, 
interfered with our intentions. On going to the 
garage I found the rear tires had collapsed, and by 
the time these were repaired and replaced, it was 
nearly noon. As a consequence, we crowded into 
half the time a journey we had expected to occupy 
the whole day. 

A little to the north of Brighton is Lewes, the 
county town of Sussex, rich in relics of antiquity. 
Its early history is rather vague, but it is known to 
have been an important place under the Saxon kings. 
William the Conqueror generously presented it to 
one of his followers, who fortified it and built the 
castle the ruins of which crown the hill overlooking 

?78 



IN SURREY AND SUSSEX 

the town. The keep affords a vantage point for a 
magnificent view, extending in every direction. I 
had seen a good many English landscapes from sim- 
ilar points of vantage, notably the castles of Lud- 
low, Richmond, Raglan, Chepstow and others, and 
it seemed strange that in such a small country there 
should be so many varying and distinctly dissimilar 
prospects, yet all of them pleasing and picturesque. 

The country around Lewes is hilly and rather 
devoid of trees. It is broken in many places by 
chalk bluffs, and the chalky nature of the soil was 
noticeable in the whiteness of the network of coun- 
try roads. Many old houses are still standing in the 
town and one of these is pointed out as the residence 
of Anne of Cleves, one of the numerous wives of 
Henry VIII. Near the town and plainly visible 
from the tower is the battlefield where in 1 624 the v J 
Battle of Lewes was fought between Henry VII 
and the barons, led by Simeon de Montfort. Lewes 
appears to be an old, staid and unprogressive town. 
No doubt all the spirit of progress in the vicinity has 
been absorbed by the city of Brighton, less than a 
dozen miles away. If there has been any material 
improvement in Lewes for the past hundred years, 
it is hardly apparent to the casual observer. 

We were now in a section of England rich in 

historic associations. We were nearing the spot 

where William the Conqueror landed and where the 

279 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

battle was fought which overthrew the Saxon 
dynasty — which an eminent authority declares to 
have done more to change the history of the Anglo- 
Saxon race than any other single event. From 
Lewes, over crooked, narrow and rather rough 
roads, we proceeded to Pevensey, where the Nor- 
mans landed nearly a thousand years ago. It is one 
of the sleepy, unpretentious villages that dot the 
southern coast of England, but it has a history 
stretching far back of many of the more important 
cities of the Kingdom. It was a port of entry in 
early times and is known to have been in existence 
long before the Romans came to Britain. The 
Romans called it Anderida, and their city was sit- 
uated on the site of the castle. Like other Sussex 
towns, Pevensey lost its position as a seaport owing 
to a remarkable natural movement of the coast line, 
which has been receding for centuries. When the 
Conqueror landed the sea came up to the castle 
walls, but now there is a stretch of four miles of 
meadowland between the coast and the town. 

The castle, rude and ruinous, shows the work of 
many centuries, and was really a great fortress rather 
than a feudal residence. It has been in a state of 
decay for many hundreds of years, but its massive 
walls, though ivy-grown and crumbling, still show 
how strongly it was built. It is now the property of 
the Duke of Devonshire, who seeks to check further 

280 



IN SURREY AND SUSSEX 

decay and opens it to the public without charge. 
This duke is the owner of other ruins in England, 
all of which he opens to visitors free. Despite his 
many possessions, he is reputed to experience more 
or less financial stringency, so the generosity on his 
part is all the more creditable. 

Battle, with its abbey, is a few miles from Peven- 
sey. This abbey marks the site of the conflict be- 
tween the Normans and the Saxons and was built 
by the Conqueror „on the spot where Harold, the 
Saxon king, fell, slain by a Norman arrow. William 
had piously vowed that if he gained the victory he 
would commemorate it by building an abbey, and 
this was the origin of Battle Abbey. William took 
care, however, to see that it was filled with Norman 
monks, who were granted extraordinary privileges 
and treasure, mostly at the expense of the con- 
quered Saxons. The abbey is one of the best pre- 
served of the early monastic buildings in England, 
and is used as a private residence by the proprietor. 
The church is in ruins, but the great gateway, with 
its crinolated towers, and the main part of the 
monastic building are practically as they were when 
completed, shortly after the death of the Conqueror. 

Speaking of Battle Abbey, I noticed in a news- 
paper article that this place has since passed into the 
hands of an American from New York City who 
has taken up his residence there. This case is typical 

281 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

of not a few that came to our attention during our 
stay in England. Many of the historic places that 
have for generations been in the possession of mem- 
bers of the nobility have been sold to wealthy Amer- 
icans or Englishmen who have made fortunes in 
business. These transactions are made possible by 
a recent law that permits entailed estates to be sold 
when the owner becomes embarrassed to such an 
extent that he can no longer maintain them. And 
some of these places are sold at astonishingly low 
figures — a fraction of their cost. It is another of the 
signs of the changing social conditions in the British 
Empire. 

A quaint old village is Winchelsea, on the coast 
about fifteen miles from Battle. It is a small, strag- 
gling place, with nothing but its imposing though 
ruinous church and the massive gateways of its 
ancient walls remaining to indicate that at one time 
it was a seaport of some consequence. But here, as 
at Pevensey, the sea receded several miles, destroy- 
ing Winchelsea's harbor. Its most interesting relic 
is the parish church, built about 1288. The greater 
portion of this is now in ruins, nothing remaining 
but the nave, which is still used for services. In the 
churchyard, under a great tree, still standing, John 
Wesley preached his last open-air sermon. 

Two miles from Winchelsea is Rye, another of 
the decayed seaports of the southeast coast. A few 

282 



IN SURREY AND SUSSEX 

small fishing vessels still frequent its harbor, but the 
merchant ships, which used to contribute to its pros- 
perity, are no longer seen. It is larger than Win- 
chelsea and is built on a hill, its steep, narrow streets 
being lined with quaint houses. These two queer 
towns seem indeed like an echo from the past. It 
does not appear that there have been any changes 
of consequence in them for the past several hundred 
years. People continue to live in such villages be- 
cause the average Englishman has a great aversion 
to leaving his native land. One would think that 
there would be emigration from such places to 
the splendid lands of Western Canada, but these 
lands are not being taken by Englishmen, although 
the opportunity is being widely advertised by the 
Canadian Government and the various transporta- 
tion companies. 

Winchelsea and Rye are typical of hundreds of 
decayed towns throughout the Kingdom, though 
perhaps they are more interesting from a historic 
standpoint than the others. Being so near the 
French coast, they suffered terribly in the continual 
French and English wars and were burned several 
times by the French in their descents upon the Eng- 
lish coast. It was nearly dark when we reached 
Rye; we had planned to stop there, but the un- 
inviting appearance of the hotels was a strong factor 

283 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

in determining us to reach Tunbridge Wells, about 
thirty miles away. 

We saw few more beautiful landscapes than those 
which stretched away under the soft glow of the 
English twilight from the upland road leading out 
of Rye. We did not have much leisure to contem- 
plate the beauty of the scene, but such a constant 
succession of delightful vistas as we dashed along, 
together with the exhilaration of the fresh sea breeze, 
forms a pleasing recollection that will not be easily 
effaced. The twilight was beginning to fade away 
beneath the brilliancy of the full moon when we ran 
into the village of Bodiam, where stands one of the 
most perfect of the ancient castellated mansions to be 
found in the Kingdom. We paused a few minutes 
to view it from a distance and found ourselves direct- 
ly in front of a neat-looking hotel — the Castle Inn. 
Its inviting appearance, our desire to see the castle 
more closely, and the fact that Tunbridge Wells was 
still a good many miles away over winding roads 
liberally sprinkled with steep hills, led us to make 
Bodiam our stopping place. There are few things 
that we have more reason for rejoicing over, for we 
saw the gray walls and towers of Bodiam Castle 
under the enchanting influence of a full, summer 
moon. 

The castle was built in 1 385 and appears to have 
been intended more as a palatial residence than a 

284 



IN SURREY AND SUSSEX 

feudal fortress. Its position is not a strong one for 
defense, being situated on a level plain rather than 
upon a commanding eminence, as is usually the case 
with fortified castles. It was built after artillery had 
come into use, and the futility of erecting a structure 
that would stand against this new engine of destruc- 
tion must have been obvious. The most remarkable 
feature is the wide moat which surrounds the castle. 
In fact, this gives it the appearance of standing on 
an island in the middle of a small lake. The water 
of the moat was nearly covered by water-lilies. 

The walls of the castle are wonderfully complete, 
every tower and turret retaining its old-time battle- 
ments. It is supposed never to have sustained an 
attack by armed forces and its present condition is 
due to neglect and decay. From our point of view, 
it must have been an insanitary place, standing in 
the low-lying fens in the midst of a pool of stagnant 
water, but such reflection does not detract from its 
beauty. I have never seen a more romantic sight 
than this huge, quadrangular pile, with its array of 
battlements and towers rising abruptly out of the 
dark waters of the moat. And its whole aspect, as 
we beheld it — softened in outline by the mellow 
moonlight — made a picture that savored more of 
enchantment than reality. 

Although the hour was so late, the custodian ad- 
mitted us to the ruins and we passed over a narrow 

285 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

bridge which crossed the moat. The pathway led 
through a door in the great gateway, over which 
still hangs suspended the iron port-cullis. Inside 
there was a grassy court, surrounded by the walls 
and ruined apartments of the castle. I ascended one 
of the main towers by a dilapidated stone stairway 
and was well repaid for the effort by the glorious 
moonlit prospect that stretched out before me. 

When we returned to the Castle Inn, we found 
the landlady all attention and she spared no effort 
to contribute to our comfort. The little inn was 
cleanlier and better kept than many of the more 
pretentious ones. Bodiam is several miles from the 
railroad and but few tourists visit the castle. The 
principal business of the hotel is to cater to parties 
of English trippers who make the neighborhood a 
resort for fishing and hunting. 

An early start from Bodiam brought us to Tun- 
bridge Wells before ten o'clock in the morning. 
This city, although of considerable size, is compara- 
tively modern and has little to detain tourists. Like 
Harrogate and Brighton, it gains its popularity from 
mineral springs. In its immediate neighborhood, 
however, there are many places of interest, and we 
determined to make a circular tour among some of 
these, returning to Tunbridge Wells for the night. 

A few miles from Tunbridge Wells is Offham, a 
little, out-of-the-way village which boasts of a queer 

386 



IN SURREY AND SUSSEX 

mediaeval relic, the only one of the kind remaining 
in the Kingdom. This is called a quintain post and 
stands in the center of the village green. It consists 
of a revolving crossbar on the top of a tall, white 
post. One end of the bar is flattened and studded 
with small holes, while at the other a billet of wood 
is suspended from a chain. The pastime consisted 
of riding on horseback and aiming a lance at one of 
the holes in the broad end of the crossbar. If the 
aim. were true, the impact would swing the club 
around with violence, and unless the rider were agile 
he was liable to be unhorsed — rough and dangerous 
sport, but no doubt calculated to secure dexterity 
with the lance on horseback. This odd relic is re- 
ligiously preserved by the village and looks suspi- 
ciously new, considering the long period since such 
a pastime must have been practiced. However, 
this may be due to the fact that the owner of an 
adjoining cottage is required to keep the post in 
good repair, a stipulation, no doubt, to which we 
owe its existence. 

In Westerham, a few miles farther on, we saw 
the vicarage where Gen. Wolfe, the hero of Quebec, 
was born. His parents were tenants of this house 
for a short time only, and soon after his birth they 
moved to the imposing residence now known as 
Quebec House, and here Wolfe spent the first 
twelve years of his life. It is a fine, Tudor mansion 

287 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

and has been little altered since the boyhood of the 
great warrior. Visitors are not now admitted. 
There are many relics of Wolfe in Westerham, and 
the spot where he received his first military commis- 
sion is marked by a stone with an appropriate in- 
scription, Wolfe's memory is greatly revered in 
England and he is looked upon as the man who 
saved not only Canada, but the United States as 
vv^ell, to the Anglo-Saxon race. 

Quite as closely connected with American history 
as Quebec House is the home of William Pitt, 
near at hand. Holwood House, as it is called, is 
a stately, classic building, situated in a great forest- 
clad park. It passed out of the hands of Pitt more 
than a hundred years ago, and being owned by 
private parties is no longer open to visitors. 

Passing again into the hedge-bordered byways, 
we came to Downe, a retired village four miles from 
the railway station and known to fame as having 
been the home of Charles Darwin. Downe House, 
where he lived, is still standing, a beautiful old 
Eighteenth Century place which was considerably 
altered by Darwin himself. The house at present 
is evidently in the hands of a prosperous owner, for 
it was apparent that watchful care is expended upon 
it. But it is in no sense a show-place and the few 
pilgrims who come to the town must content them- 
selves with a glimpse from the outside. 

288 



IN SURREY AND SUSSEX 

To get a view of the place, I surreptitiously 
stepped through the open gateway, the house itself 
being some distance from the road and partially 
concealed by the hedges and trees in front of it. It 
is a rather irregular, three-story building, with lattice 
windows surrounded by ivy and climbing roses. It 
stands against a background of fir trees, with a 
stretch of green lawn and flowers in front, and the 
whole place had an air of quiet beauty and repose. 
On the front of the house was an ancient sun-dial, 
and across it, in antique letters, the legend 
"Time will show." I do not know whether this 
was placed there by Darwin or not, but it is the 
most appropriate answer which the great scientist 
might have made to his hosts of critics. Time has 
indeed shown, and the quiet philosopher who lived 
in this retired village has revolutionized the thought 
of the whole world. 



289 



XIX 

KNOLE HOUSE AND PENSHURST 

One of the greatest show-places of England is 
Knole House, the seat of Lord Sackville-West, 
near Seven-Oaks. The present owner was formerly 
British ambassador at Washington, where he 
achieved notoriety by answering a decoy letter ad- 
vising a supposed British-American to vote for 
Grover Cleveland as being especially friendly to 
England. The letter created a tremendous furor in 
the United States, and the result was the abrupt 
recall of the distinguished writer from his post as 
ambassador. 

No difficulty is experienced in obtaining admis- 
sion to Knole House, providing one pays the price. 
The thousands of tourists who come annually are 
handled in a most businesslike manner. An ad- 
mission fee of two shillings, or about fifty cents, is 
charged, and at numerous stands near the gateway 
photographs, post cards, souvenirs and guide-books 
galore are sold. Motor cars are allowed to drive 
right up to the great gateway, where they are 
assigned a position and supervised by an attendant, 
all for the sum of one shilling. However, the show 
is well worth the price. 

290 



KNOLE HOUSE AND PENSHURST 

The house is a fine example of the baronial resi- 
dences erected just after the period of fortified 
castles, when artillery had rendered these fortress- 
mansions useless as a means of defense. It surrounds 
three square courts and covers about five acres; it 
contains three hundred and sixty-five rooms and has 
seven great staircases, some of them very elaborate. 
The collection of paintings and mediaeval furniture 
is one of the best in England. The pictures are of 
untold value, one room being filled with originals by 
Gainsborough and Reynolds alone. Some idea of 
the value of these pictures may be gained from the 
fact that an offer of twenty thousand pounds for one 
of the Gainsboroughs was refused; and there are 
other pictures quite as valuable, not only by English 
masters, but by great continental artists as well. 

King James I visited Knole House and prepara- 
tions were made to receive him as befitted his rank. 
The immense stateroom was especially furnished for 
the occasion at a cost, it is said, of about one hun- 
dred thousand pounds. This room has never been 
used since and it stands today just as it did when it 
served its royal occupant, though the gorgeous hang- 
ings and tapestries are somewhat dingy and worn 
from the dust and decay of three hundred years. 

It took nearly two hours to go through the parts of 
the house that are shown, although the parties were 
accompanied by guides who kept them moving 

291 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

along. On the afternoon of our arrival there were 
quite a number of visitors, five motor cars and several 
carriages bringing them. Knole House stands in a 
large park, which has the finest beeches in England, 
and it is really more of a show-place than a family 
residence. The Sackville- Wests are among the rich- 
est of the nobility and have other homes which are 
probably more comfortable than this impressive but 
unhomelike palace. 

Something similar to Knole House is Penshurst 
Place, about ten miles away, but with an atmos- 
phere and traditions totally different from the Sack- 
ville-West mansion. This great palace, just adjacent 
to the village of Penshurst, was built in the Thir- 
teenth Century, passing shortly after into the hands 
of the Sidney family, with whom it has remained 
ever since. Of the Sidneys, one only is known 
wherever the English language is spoken — the gal- 
lant young knight. Sir Philip, who, when still below 
the age of thirty, lost his life while fighting for a 
forlorn cause in the Netherlands. Of all the brilliant 
array of statesmen, soldiers and vmters who graced 
the reign of Queen Elizabeth, none gave greater 
promise than did young Sidney. Nothing is more 
characteristic of him than the oft-told story of how, 
when suffering from his death-wound on the field of 
Zutphen, he gave to a wounded soldier by his side 
the cup of water brought to him with the greatest 

292 



KNOLE HOUSE AND PENSHURST 

difficulty. There are few who have received a high- 
er or a more deserved tribute than that of the poet 
Watson, when he mused upon 

"the perfect knight. 
The soldier, courtier, bard in one, 
Sidney, that pensive Hesper-light 
O'er Chivalry's departed Sun." 

Naturally, we were interested in the ancestral 
home of such a man and the many historical associa- 
tions which have gathered around it. It was at the 
close of a busy day for us when we reached Pens- 
hurst and learned that half an hour remained before 
the house would be closed for the day. Admission 
was easily gained and ample time given to inspect 
such parts of the house as were shown. We entered 
the great park through a gateway near the church 
where several members of the Sidney family are 
buried. 

The palace stands in a large open space with a 
level lawn in front, and the five hundred years which 
have passed over it have dealt kindly with it. Few 
of the ancient places which we had seen in England 
were in better state of preservation. Nor was this 
due so much to restoration as in many cases. It had 
never been intended as a fortified castle and had 
escaped the ravages of war which destroyed so many 
of the strongholds. Its most striking feature is the 
baronial hall with its high, open-raftered roof, main- 

293 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

tained in general appearance and furnishing much 
as it was five hundred years ago. It is of great size, 
and in early days the tables probably furnished cheer 
to hundreds of revelers at a time. At one end of 
the room is a gallery which the musicians occupied, 
and at the other, our attention was called to a small 
opening through which the lord of the establishment 
could secretly witness the doings in the hall. A re- 
markable feature is the fireplace, situated in the 
center of the room and without chimney of any kind, 
the smoke being left to find its way out through the 
windows or apertures in the roof, as the case might 
be — a striking example of the discomforts of the 
good old days when knighthood was in flower. 

Queen Elizabeth, who was one of the greatest 
royal travelers of her time, made a visit to the home 
of her favorite, Sidney, and the drawing room which 
she honored as a guest is still shown, with much of 
the handsome furniture which was especially made 
for the occasion of Her Majesty's visit. On the 
walls are some examples of beautifully v^nrought 
needlework and satin tapestry which tradition says 
is the work of the queen herself and her maidens. 
In the picture gallery the majority of the paintings 
are portraits of the Sidney family. 

From Penshurst we returned to Tunbridge Wells, 
having covered in all about one hundred miles since 
leaving that town — not a very long distance for a 

294 



KNOLE HOUSE AND PENSHURST 

day's motoring, but we had seen more things of 
interest, perhaps, than on any other day of our tour. 
It was a fitting close to our tour, since we had de- 
termined that we would at once return to London 
and bid farewell to the English highways and by- 
ways. The next morning we spent a short time 
looking about Tunbridge Wells. This town has 
been known as a watering-place since 1 606 and has 
maintained great popularity ever since. Its unique 
feature is the promenade, known as "The Pantiles," 
with its row of stately lime trees in the center and 
its colonade in front of the shops. It is referred to 
in Thackeray's "Virginians," and readers of that 
story will recall his description of the scenes on the 
Pantiles in the time of the powdered wigs, silver 
buckles and the fearful and wonderful "hoop." 
Tunbridge Wells would make a splendid center for 
several excursions and one might well spend consid- 
erable time there. Our trip of the previous day had 
taken us at no time more than thirty miles from the 
town and had covered only a few of the most in- 
teresting places within that distance. 

We were ready to leave Tunbridge Wells b'efore 
noon, and it was with feelings of mingled satisfaction 
and regret that we turned toward London, about 
thirty miles away. Our long summer's pilgrimage 
through Britain was over. Despite our anxiety to 
return home, there was, after all, a sense of regret 

295 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

that we had left undone much that would have been 
well worth while. Our last day on the English 
country roads was a lovely one, A light rain had 
fallen the night before, just enough to beat down the 
dust and freshen the landscape. We passed through 
a country thickly interspersed with suburban towns. 
The fields had much the appearance of a well kept 
park, and everything conspired to make the day a 
pleasant recollection. 

When we came into the immediate suburbs of 
London, I found that the knowledge I had gained on 
our frequent trips gave me a great advantage in get- 
ting into the city. I was able to avoid the crowded 
streets and to select those where traffic was lighter, 
thus reducing the time of reaching our hotel fully 
an hour. There is much difference in the traffic on 
the eight bridges which cross the Thames. London 
Bridge, which crosses near the Bank of England, is 
the most congested of all. There is hardly an hour 
when it is not a compact mass of slowly moving 
vehicles. The bridge by Parliament House is less 
crowded, but I should say that Waterloo Bridge 
furnishes the best route for motorists in getting across 
the river. It leads directly into the new boulevard 
known as Kingsway, which has just been completed 
at an expense of many millions of pounds. This is 
the broadest street in London and was opened by 
wholesale condemnation of private property. It is 

296 



KNOLE HOUSE AND PENSHURST 

little used for heavy traffic and has a fine asphalted 
surface. It extends from the Strand to Holbom, the 
two principal business arteries of London. The 
street now presents a rather ragged appearance on 
account of the buildings that were torn down to 
make way for it. However, new structures of fine 
architecture are rapidly being built and Kingsway is 
destined to become one of the handsomest boule- 
vards in the world. 

A little after noon we reached our London hotel, 
having spent ten weeks in touring England, Wales 
and Scotland. We had not confined ourselves to 
the highways, but had journeyed a great part of the 
distance through less frequented country roads. In 
fact, many of the most charming places we had vis- 
ited could only be reached from the byways and 
were not immediately accessible to railway stations. 
With the exception of the first two weeks, when we 
had rain more or less every day, we had been fa- 
vored with exceptionally fine weather. During the 
last seven or eight weeks of our trip, only light 
showers had fallen and we were assured that the 
season had been an unusual one for England. 

The matter of weather is not of great moment to 
the motorist in Great Britain. The roads are not 
affected in the least, so far as traveling is concerned, 
and dashing through the open air in a rain is not an 
unpleasant experience. A closed top for the car is 

297 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

rarely necessary. Plenty of waterproof coats and 
coverings answer the purpose very well and the open 
air is much pleasanter than being cooped up in a 
closed vehicle. Rubber tires do not slip or skid on 
good macadam roads and during our tour it was 
necessary to use chains on the wheels only a few 
times. 

Altogether, the experience was worth while; nor 
was it so expensive as many have imagined it to be. 
A party of three or four people with their own car, 
if one of them drives, can tour Britain for less than it 
would cost to cover the same ground, traveling first- 
class, by railway train. As to the comparative sat- 
isfaction derived from the two methods of touring, 
no comment whatever is needed. Making the trip 
by motor affords so many advantages and so many 
opportunities of seeing the country and of coming in 
touch with the people that there is really no other 
imethod that can in any way compare with it. 



298 



XX 

SOME MIGHT-HAVE-BEENS 

In closing this desultory record of a summer's 
motoring in Britain, I can easily see that a great 
deal was missed much of which might have been 
included with little or no loss of time had we been 
well enough informed in advance. There were cases 
where we actually passed through places of real 
interest only to learn later that we had overlooked 
something that might well have engaged our atten- 
tion. There were other points, readily accessible 
from our route, which we omitted because previous- 
ly visited by rail; and though many of these places 
we should have been glad to see again, our limited 
time forbade. In order to get all that should be 
gotten out of a five-thousand-mile tour by motor car, 
one would have to be familiar indeed with Eng- 
land's history and traditions as well as conversant 
with her literature. There is little opportunity for 
studying hand-books as one goes along. A few 
weeks of preparation, of well selected reading and 
the study of road-books and maps would make such 
a tour doubly valuable in saving time and in an in- 
telligent understanding of the country and the places 

299 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

worth seeing. What one should have done he will 
know far better after the trip is over, and the main 
excuse for this modest record is that it may supply 
in popular form some data from experience of one 
who has been over part of the ground, while the 
superb illustrations of the volume will give a far 
better idea of what awaits the tourist than the mere 
written words. 

Among the places in which our time was too 
short is Canterbury. Another day would have given 
us a chance to see more of that ancient town, and 
a side trip of thirty miles would have taken us to 
Sandwich, Margate and Reculvers. We had ex- 
pected to come a second time to Canterbury and to 
visit these three points then, but were unable to carry 
out our plan. Sandwich was at one time an import- 
ant seaport, but lost its position from the same cause 
that affected so many of the south coast towns — the 
receding of the sea. It contains many of the richest 
bits of mediaeval architecture in England, and a few 
hours in its quaint streets would have been well re^ 
paid. Reculvers, or ancient Regulbium, was a 
Roman city that was destroyed by the encroach- 
ments of the sea. Here is one of the oldest and 
strangest of the ruined churches in England, now 
standing on the verge of the ocean, which still con- 
tinues to advance with a prospect of ultimately wip- 
ing out the little village. 

300 



SOME MIGHT-HAVE-BEENS 

On our trip to Manchester we passed within two 
or three miles of Knutsford, the delightful old town 
selected by Mrs. Gaskell as the scene of her story, 
"Cranford." Had we known of this at the time, a 
short detour would have taken us through its quaint 
streets. 

The Isle of Wight is immediately across the 
strait from Southampton, and while a motor car 
could be transported by steamer to traverse its fifty 
or sixty miles of road, this is not very often done. 
It would require two days to visit the interesting 
points in the island, among which are Carisbrooke 
Castle, where King Charles I was confined as a 
prisoner; Osborne House, formerly a royal residence 
but presented to the nation by King Edward; and 
the home where the poet Tennyson lived for many 
years. 

Sherborne and Tewkesbury were both only a few 
miles off our route, and had we planned rightly we 
could have visited with very little loss of time these 
two interesting towns with their great abbey 
churches, which rank in size and importance with 
many of the cathedrals. 

Ten miles from Penzance would have brought 
us to Lands End — the extreme southwestern point 
of England, abounding in wild and beautiful ocean- 
shore scenery, but the story of dangerous hills de- 
terred us, though we afterwards regretted our de- 

301 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

cision. Nor would we pass again as we did at 
Camelford in Cornwall within five miles of King 
Arthur's Tintagel without seeing this solitary and 
wonderfully romantic ruin, with the majestic — even 
awful — scenery around it. 

Perhaps the most interesting trip which we 
missed, but which would have required more time 
than we could give, was a two or three days* run 
through the extreme south of Wales. It is only 
thirty miles from Monmouth to Cardiff, a coal-min- 
ing metropolis, itself of little interest, but with many 
places worth visiting in its immediate vicinity. Car- 
diff Castle, too, is one of the best known of the 
Welsh ruins, and here Henry I confined his elder 
brother Robert for twenty years while he himself, 
in reality a usurper, held the English throne. Ten 
miles north of Cardiff is the rude and inaccessible 
castle of Caerphilly, which is reckoned the most 
extensive ruin in the Kingdom. 

Following the coast road for one hundred miles, 
one comes to the ancient towTi of St. Davids, at the 
extreme southwestern point of Wales. Here in the' 
Middle Ages was a city of considerable size, a great 
resort of pilgrims to St. David's shrine, William the 
Conqueror being one of these. The modern St. 
Davids is a mere village, and its chief attraction is 
its grand cathedral and the ruins of the once gor- 
geous episcopal palace. The cathedral, built in the 

302 



SOME MIGHT-HAVE-BEENS 

Tenth Century, is curiously situated in a deep dell, 
and only the great tower is visible from the village. 

The return trip from St. Davids would best be 
made over the same road to Camarthen, then taking 
the road northward to Llandovery, where is located 
one of the ruins of what was once the greatest abbey 
in Southern Wales. From this point the road direct 
to Abergavenny is a good one and passes through 
much of the picturesque hill country of Wales. 

From Bangor in North Wales it is about twenty 
miles to Holyhead, from which point the car could 
easily be transferred to Ireland in two or three hours. 
This would mean an additional two weeks to the 
tour, and no doubt more time could pleasantly be 
spent in the Emerald Isle. The roads in Ireland are 
said to be quite as good as those in England or 
Scotland, the scenery even lovelier, and the points of 
interest quite as numerous. 

The Isle of Man, in the Irish Channel, is a famous 
resort of motorists, and many of the speed and relia- 
bility contests have been held there. It is about the 
only spot in the world where no speed limit is im- 
posed, the inhabitants of the island recognizing the 
financial advantage which they reap from the num- 
erous motorists. There are about fifty or sixty miles 
of road in the island said to be as fine as any in the 
world. The island is charming and interesting, v^th 
ruins and relics dating from the time when it was an 

303 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

independent kingdom. The two days which would 
have to be given it would be well spent. 

No one who had not visited it before would miss 
the Lake District in the north of England, A for- 
mer trip through this section by coach caused us to 
omit it from our tour, though we would gladly have 
seen this delightful country a second time. One 
could depart from the main highway from Lancaster 
to Carlisle at Kendall and in a single day visit most 
of the haunts of Ruskin, Coleridge, Wordsworth 
and Southey, whose nzmies are always associated 
with the English lakes. Many steep hills would be 
encountered, but none that would present great diffi- 
culty to a moderate-powered motor. It would be 
much better, however, if two or three days could be 
given to the Lakes, and this time might also include 
Furness Abbey and Lanercost Priory. Volumes 
have been written of the English lakes, but with all 
the vivid pen-pictures that have been drawn one will 
hardly be prepared for the beauty of the reality. 

The Peak District in Derbyshire we omitted for 
the same reason — a previous visit. At Nottingham 
we were v^thin ten or fifteen miles of this section, 
and by follov^ng a splendid road could have 
reached Rowsley Station, with its quaint inn, near 
Chatsworth House and Haddon Hall. No one 
who makes any pretense of seeing England will 
miss either of these places. Haddon Hall is said 

304 



SOME MIGHT-HAVE-BEENS 

to be the most perfect of the baronial mansion 
houses now to be found in England. It is situated 
in a wonderfully picturesque position, on a rocky- 
bluff overlooking the River Wye. The manor was 
originally given by the Conqueror to Peveril of the 
Peak, the hero of Scott*s novel. The mansion is 
chiefly famous for its connection with Dorothy 
Vernon, who married the son of the Earl of Rut- 
land in the time of Queen Elizabeth, the property 
thus passing to the Rutland family, who are still the 
owners. The mansion is approached by a small 
bridge crossing the river, whence one enters under 
a lofty archway the main courtyard. In this beauti- 
ful quadrangle, one of the most interesting features 
is the chapel at the southwest corner. This is one 
of the oldest portions of the structure. Almost op- 
posite is the magnificent porch and bay-window 
leading into the great hall. This is exactly as it was 
in the days of the Vemons, and its table, at which 
the lord of the feast sat, its huge fireplace, timber 
roof and minstrel gallery are quite unaltered. It 
has recently been announced that the Duke of Rut- 
land will make repairs to this old place and occupy 
It as one of his residences, closing Belvoir Castle, 
his present home, on account of the great expense 
of maintaining it. 

Four or five miles from Haddon Hall is Chats- 
worth House, the splendid country seat of the Duke 

305 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

of Devonshire. This was built over a hundred years 
ago and is as fine an example of the modem English 
mansion as Haddon Hall is of the more ancient. 
It is a great building in the Georgian style, rather 
plain from the outside, but the interior is furnished in 
great splendor. It is filled with objects of art pre- 
sented to the family at various times, some of them 
representing gifts from nearly every crowned head 
in Europe during the last hundred years. Its gal- 
leries contain representative work of the greatest 
cincient and modern artists. Even more charming 
than the mansion itself are its gardens and grounds. 
Nowhere in England are these surpassed. The 
mansion, with its grounds, is open daily to the pub- 
lic without charge, and we were told that in some 
instances the number of visitors reaches one thou- 
sand in a single day. As I noted elsewhere, the 
Duke of Devonshire owns numerous other palaces 
and ruins, all of which are open to the public with- 
out charge — a fine example of the spirit of many of 
the English nobility who decline to make commercial 
enterprises of their historic possessions. 

In this immediate vicinity is Buxton, another of 
the English watering places famous for mineral 
springs. The neighborhood is most romantic, with 
towering cliffs, strange caverns, leaping cataracts and 
wooded valleys. However, the section abounds in 

806 



SOME MIGHT-HAVE-BEENS 

very steep hills, dangerous to the most powerful 
motor. 

In Yorkshire we missed much, chiefly on account 
of lack of time. A single day's journey would have 
taken us over a fine road to Beverley,, with its great 
Minster, from thence to Scarborough, an ancient 
town which has become a modern seacoast resort, 
and to Whitby, with one of the finest abbey ruins in 
the shire, as well as to numerous other interesting 
places between. Barnard Castle, lying just across 
the western boundary of Yorkshire, was only a few 
miles off the road from Darlington, and would have 
been well worth a visit. These are only a few of 
the many places which might be seen to advantage 
if one could give at least a week to Yorkshire. 

From Norwich an hour or two would have taken 
us to Yarmouth through the series of beautiful lakes 
known as the Norfolk Broads. Yarmouth is an 
ancient town with many points of interest and at 
present noted principally for its fisheries. 

On the road to Colchester we might easily have 
visited Bury St. Edmunds, and coming out of Col- 
chester, only seven miles away is the imposing ruin 
of the unfinished mansion of the Marneys, which 
its builder hoped to make the most magnificent pri- 
vate residence in the Kingdom. The death of Lord 
Marney and his son brought the project to an end 

307 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

and for several hundred years this vast ruin has stood 
as a monument to their unfulfilled hopes. 

It may seem that as Americans we were rather 
unpatriotic to pass within a few miles of the ances- 
tral country of the Washingtons without visiting it, 
but such was the case. It is not given much space 
in the guide-books and it came to us only as an after- 
thought. It was but five or six miles from North- 
ampton, through which we passed. In the old church 
at Brington is the tomb of George Washington's 
great-great-great-grandfather and also one of the 
houses which was occupied by his relatives. In the 
same section is Sulgrave Manor, the home of the 
Washingtons for several generations, which still has 
over its front doorway the Washington coat-of-arms. 
In the same vicinity and near the farmhouse where 
George Eliot was born is Nuneaton, a place where 
she spent much of her life and to which numerous 
references are made in her novels. 

In Scotland we also missed much, but very little 
that we could have reached without consuming con- 
siderably more time. A day's trip north of Edin- 
burgh, across the Firth of Forth into Fife, would 
have enabled us to visit Loch Leven and its castle, 
where Queen Mary was held prisoner and was res- 
cued by young Douglas, whom she afterward un- 
fortunately married. Had we started two or three 
hours earlier on our trip to Abbottsford and Melrose, 

308 



SOME MIGHT-HAVE-BEENS 

we could easily have reached Jedburgh and Kelso, 
at each of which there are interesting abbey ruins. 
Of course it would have been a fine thing to go to 
the extreme northern point of Scotland, known as 
John O'Groats, but this, at the rate we traveled, 
would have consumed two or three days. The 
country is not specially interesting and has few histori- 
cal associations. Tourists make this trip chiefly to 
be able to say they have covered the Kingdom from 
Lands End to John O'Groats. 

I have said little of the larger cities — we did not 
stop long in any of these. The chief delight of 
motoring in Britain is seeing the country and the out- 
of-the-way places. In the cities, where one may 
spend days and where the train service and other 
methods of transportation in the place and its 
suburbs are practically unlimited, one can ill afford 
to linger with his car in the garage much of the time. 
Of London I have already spoken. Liverpool, 
Manchester, Leeds, Bristol, Birmingham, Edin- 
burgh and Glasgow are examples to my point. We 
had visited nearly all of these by rail, but in again 
planning a tour by car I should not stop at such 
places for any length of time and should avoid pass- 
ing through them whenever practicable. 

Of course I do not pretend in the few suggestions 
I have made in this chapter to have named a fraction 
of the points of interest that we did not visit— only 

309 



BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

the ones which appealed to me most when I had 
become more familiar with Britain. I only offer 
these few comments to show how much more might 
have been compassed in the space of a week, leaving 
out Ireland, John O'Groats, and the Isles of Wight 
and Man. One week would have given ample time 
for us to include the places I have enumerated. In 
planning a tour, individual taste must be a large 
element. What will please one may not appeal so 
strongly to another. Still, I am sure that the great 
majority of the route which we covered and which 
I have tried to outline will interest anyone who cares 
enough to give the time and money necessary to 
tour Britain. 



310 



EHGLAhP 
WALES 




^^^-^ 



MMM 



o 



^K 



INDEX 



Abbottsford, 174-175, 177. 
Aberdeen, 161-164. 
Aberyswith, 125-126. 
Addison, Jos., 88. 
Aldworth, 276. 
Alexandria, 150. 
Alfred the Great, 21, 84-85, 

259, 262-264. 
Alloway, 148-149. 
Alnwick, 186-187. 
Altringham, 56. 
Amesbury, 88. 
Anderida, 280. 
Andre, Major, 48. 
Arbroath, 168. 
Arthur, King, 109, 302. 
Arthur, Prince, 76. 
Arundel, 276-277. 
Ashow Church, 78. 
Austen, Jane, 84. 
Awe, Loch, 151, 157. 
Ayr, 148-149. 

B 

Bamborough, 183-185. 
Banbury, 79. 
Bangor, 134. 
Bannockburn, 171. 
Barden Tower, 51. 
"Barnaby Rudge," 18-20. 
Barnard Castle, 307. 



Barnsley, 55. 
Bath, 110-111. 
Battle, 281. 
Bawtry, 206. 
Bedford, 232-233. 
Belvoir Castle, 227-228. 
Berwick-on-Tweed, 182-183. 
Bettws-y-Coed, 132. 
Blandford, 89. 
Blenheim, 260-262. 
Bodiam Castle, 284-286. 
Bodlein Library, 259. 
Boleyn, Anne, 266. 
Bolton Abbey, 51. 
Boston, 214-216. 
Bottisford, 228. 
Bradley, A. G., 68-69. 
Braemar, 163. 
Brighton, 277-278, 308. 
"Brig O' Doon," 148. 
Brixham, 93-94. 
Bruce, 165, i70. 
Buildwas Abbey, 64. 
Bull Hotel, Dartford, 27-28. 
Bunyan, John, 233. 
Burnham Thorpe, 217. 
Burns, Robt. 143-149. 
Burslem, 49. 
Bury St. Edmunds, 307. 
Butler, Dr., 264. 
Buxton, 306. 
Bylands Abbey, 201-202. 
Bsrron, Lord, 230, 247-248. 
11 



INDEX 



Caerlaverock Castle, 14 5. 
Caerphilly, 302. 
Caledonian Canal, 157. 
Cambridge, 233-234, 237, 

240-241. 
Cambuskenneth Abbey, 171. 
Camelford, 104. 
Canterbury, 26-27, 33-39, 

300. 
Canute, 84. 
Cardiff, 302. 
Carisbrooke Castle, 301. 
Carlisle, 141-143. 
Carlj'le, Thos., 146. 
Carnarvon, 132-134. 
Castle Hotel, NewCastle- 

Under-Lyme, 4 9. 
Catherine of Aragon, 2 24. 
Cawdor Castle, 161. 
Cerne Abbas, 89-90. 
Cerrig-y-Druidion, 130-132. 
Chalfont St. Giles, 249-250. 
Charlecote, 77. 
Charles I, 61, 63, 82, 117, 

120-121, 227, 301. 
Charles II, 165. 
Charles the Pretender, 161, 

171-172. 
Chatham, 33. 

Chatsworth House, 305-306. 
Chaucer, 27, 262. 
Chawton, 82. 
Chelmsford, 243. 
Cheltenham, 112. 
Chepstow, 119-120. 
Chester, 58-61, 137. 
Chichester, 271-273. 
Chigwell, 18-20. 



Chippenham, 111. 

Chipping - Ongar, 18, 243- 

244. 
Christchurch, 89. 
Cirencester, 112. 
Claverhouse, 165. 
Clifford Castle, 124. 
Clyde Shipyards, 150. 
Cobbett, Wm., 81. 
Cobden, Richard, 273. 
Colchester, 242-243. 
Coleridge, 304. 
Conway Castle, 134-136. 
Conway River, 13 2. 
Coventry, 45-46. 
Cowdray Mansion, 274. 
Cowper, Wm., 221, 232. 
Coxwold, 199-203. 
Crayon, Geoffrey, 1. 
Crianlarich, 151. 
Croker, Richard, 262-263. 
Cromwell, Oliver, 139, 235- 

240, 244. 
Crowland, 222-223. 
Culloden Moor, 161. 

D 

Dalmally, 157. 

Darling, Grace, 185. 

Darnley, 180. 

Dartford, 27-29. 

Dartmoor, 106. 

Dartmouth, 94. 

Dart, River, 94. 

Darwin, Charles, 63, 288- 

289. 
Dereham, 221. 
Devonport, 96. 
Dickens, 18-20, 29-32, 140- 

141. 



312 



INDEX 



Dinas Mowddwy, 126. 
Dochart, River, 158. 
Doncaster, i;06. 
Dorchester, 89. 
Downe, 288-289. 
Drumlanrigh Castle, 147. 
Dryburgh Abbey, 174-176. 
Dukeries, 206-207. 
Dumfries, 144-146. 
Dumbarton, 150. 
Dunbar, 180. 
Dunblane, 170. 
Duncan, 161. 
Dundee, 168-169. 
Dunnotter Castle, 164-167. 
Dunollie Castle, 152. 
Dunstafnage Castle, 154- 

155. 
Durham, 187-189. 

E 

Earl's Colne, 242. 
Easby Abbey, 193-194. 
Eaton Hall, 60. 
Eboracum, 191. 
Ecclefechan, 146. 
Edgeware, 23. 
Edgeworth, Maria, 48. 
Edinburgh, 174, 178-179. 
Edward the Confessor, 113. 
Edward I, 20, 133. 
Edward II, 133. 
Edward III, 231. 
Edward VII, 134. 
Elgin. 161-162. 
Eliot, George, 78, 273, 275- 

276, 308. 
Elizabeth, Queen, 220, 226, 

262, 292, 294. 



Ellisland Farm, 146-147. 
Elstow, 233. 
Ely, 221, 237-238. 
Epping Forest, 16-17. 
Bthelwulf, King, 84. 
Eton College, 254. 
Eversley, 265-266. 
Exeter, 91-92, 107. 



Fairfax, Gen. 121, 199. 

Falkirk, 172. 

Falstaff, Sir John, 30. 

Parnham, 81. 

Fast Castle, 181-182. 

Feathers Hotel, Ludlow, 69- 

70. 
Fife, 308. 
Forres, 161. 
Fotheringhay, 225-227. 
Fountains Abbey, 54, 196. 
Franklin, Benjamin, 85. 
Frogmore Park, 255. 
Furness Abbey, 304. 

G 

Gad's Hill, 29-32. 
Galashiels, 178. 
Gaskell, Mrs. 301. 
Gaveston, Piers, 53. 
Glastonbury, 108-109. 
Glasgow, 149. 
Gloucester, 112-113. 
Grandtully Castle, 158. 
Grantham, 227. 
Gray, Thos., 253-254. 
Great North Road, 191, 206. 
Greenstead Church, 243. 
Greenwich, 27. 
Grey Friars Church, 193. 
Guildford, 80-81. 
Guinevere, Queen, 109. 

313 



INDEX 



H 

Haddon Hall, 304-305. 
Hadley Church, Monken 

Hadley, 21-22. 
Hampton Court Palace, 12- 

13. 
Handel, 23. 
Hanley, 49. 
Haredale Hall, 54. 
Harold, King, 20, 281. 
Harrogate, 5 2, 54. 
Harrow on the Hill, 247- 

248. 
Haselmere, 275-276. 
Hastings, Battle of, 20. 
Hatfield House, 15. 
Hathaway, Anne, 76. 
Haverhill, 241. 
Hay, 124. 
Heddingham, 242. 
Helmsley, 199. 
Henley-on-Thames, 256. 
Henry I, 267, 302. 
Henry H, 53. 
Henry V, 117-118. 
Henry VH, 107, 279. 
Henry VHI, 43, 76, 109, 

194, 197, 217-218, 224, 
266, 279. 
Hereford, 122-124. 
Hindhead District, 276. 
Holwood House, 288. 
Holyhead Road, 43-44. 
Huntingdon, 237, 239-240. 
Huntly, 161. 



Ilkley Station, 51. 
Inverness, 159-161. 



Inverurie, 162. 

lona, 153-154. 

Ireland, 303. 

Irish Sea, 141. 

Isle of Man, 141, 303. 

Isle of Wight, 301. 



James I, 171, 183, 224, 

291. 
James II, 63. 
James IV, 165. 
Jedburgh, 177, 309. 
Jeffreys, Judge, 63. 
John, King, 76, 229, 266. 
John O'Groats, 161, 309. 
Johnson, Dr. Samuel, 48. 
Jordans, 250-253. 

K 

Keith, 161. 
Kelso, 177, 309. 
Kenilworth, 78. 
Kilchurn Castle, 152, 157. 
Killiekrankie, Pass of, 160. 
Kilmarnock, 149. 
Kingsley, Chas., 265-266. 
King's Lynn, 216. 
Kingston-on-Thames, 80. 
Kingsway, London, 296-297. 
Kinneff, 166. 
Kinniard House, 158. 
Knaresborough, 52-54. 
Knole House, 290-292. 
Knutsford, 301. 



Lake District, 304. 
Lammermoor, 180-181. 
Lancaster, 140-141. 
14 



INDEX 



Land's End, 301. 
Lanercost Priory, 304. 
Launceston, 104-106. 
Lea, River, 21. 
Leamington, 78. 
Leeds, 50-52. 
Leeds Castle, 3 9. 
Leicester, 230. 
Leven, Loch, 308. 
Lewes, 278-279. 
Lichfield, 48. 
Lincluden, 146. 
Lincoln, 209-210. 
Linlithgow, 171, 172 
Llanberis, Pass of, 13 2. 
Llandovery, 303. 
Llangollen, 127-129. 
Lockyer, Sir Norman, 87-88. 
Lomond, Loch, 150. 
London, 11-25, 39-40, 79, 

80, 245-246, 296-297. 
London Tower, 72. 
Ludlow, 66-74. 
Lutterworth, 231-232. 
Lyndhurst, 88-89. 

M 

McCaig's Tower, 152-153. 
Macbeth, 160, 161. 
Magdalen College, Oxford, 

256-258. 
Maidstone, 32, 39. 
Malmsbury, 111-112. 
Manchester, 50, 54. 
Marazion, 103. 
Margate, 300. 
Martin, Henry, 120. 
Mary, Queen, 262. 
Mary, Queen of Scots, 170- 

3 



173, 180, 224, 226-227, 

308. 
Mauchline, 148. 
Maxstoke Castle, 78. 
Mayflower, The, 96, 206. 
Melrose Abbey, 174-175, 

177. 
Micklegate Bar, York, 204. 
Midhurst, 273. 
Millston, 88. 

Milton, John, 72, 249-250. 
Monken Hadley, 21-23. 
Monmouth, 114-113. 
Monnow River, 117. 
Montfort, Simon de, 279. 
Montrose, 167. 
Much Wenlock, 65. 
Mull, Sound of, 154. 

N 

Nairn, 161. 

Nelson, Admiral, 217. 

Netley, 267-269. 

Newark, 229. 

Newcastle-on-Tyne, 187. 

New Castle-Under-Lyme, 49. 

New College, Oxford, 258. 

New Forest, 88. 

Newlyn, lOO-lOl. 

Newstead Abbey, 207-208. 

Newton, Sir Isaac, 227. 

Nidd, River, 53. 

Nith Valley, 14C. 

Norfolk Broads, 307. 

Northampton, 232. 

Norwich, 215-220. 

Nottingham, 229-230. 
I Nuneaton, 47, 78. 
15 



INDEX 



o 

Oban, 151-155. 
Offham, 286-287. 
Old Kent Road, 26-27. 
Olney, 232. 
Osborne House, 301. 
Oswestry, 127. 
Ouse, River, 239. 
Oxford, 233-234, 255-259. 

P 

Parliamentary Army, 61, 82, 
121-122, 143, 204, 229, 
243. 

Peak District, 304. 

Peele, 248. 

Peniston, 55. 

Penn, Wm. 250, 252. 

Penritb, 141. 

Penshurst, Place, 292-294. 

Penzance, 98, 100. 

Perth, 169-170. 

Peterborough, 223-225. 

Peter gate. The, York, 205. 

Pevensey, 280-281. 

Pilgrim Fathers, 96, 206, 
214-215. 

Pitlochry, 159. 

Pitt, Wm., 288. 

Plymouth, 96-97. 

Preston, 137, 140. 

Q 

Quebec House, 287-288. 

R 

Raglan, 120, 122. 
Raikes, Robt., 113. 
Reading, 264-265. 
Reculvers, 300. 



Retford, 206. 
Rhodes, Cecil, 258. 
Richard HI, 72, 107. 
Richmond, 193-195. 
Rievaulx Abbey, 199-200. 
Ripon, 54, 195-196. 
Rochester, 29, 32-33. 
Ross, 113-114. 
Roundheads, 48, 84, 92. 
Rowsley, 304. 
Rowton Moor, 61. 
Royal Porcelain Works, 

Worcester, 74-76. 
Rugby, 78. 
Runnymead, 15. 
Ruskin, 304. 
Rye, 282-283. 
Rye House, Broxbome, 15. 



St. Albans, 42-43. 

St. Augustine's Abbey, Can- 
terbury, 38. 

St. Botolph's Church. 214. 

St. Columba, 154. 

St. Cuthbert, 188. 

St. Davids, 302. 

St. Edmund the Martyr, 
244 

St. Ives, 101-103, 237-239. 

St. John's Hospital, 38-39. 

St. Joseph of Arimathea, 
108. 

St. Martin's, Canterbury, 38. 

St. Mary's Abbey, York, 204. 

St. Mary's Church, Lancas- 
ter, 141. 

St. Mary's Church, Shrews- 
bury, 63. 
16 



INDEX 



St. Michael's Church, Dum- 
fries, 144. 
St. Michael's Mount, 103. 
St. Steven's Church, Launce- 

ston, 105-106. 
St. William of Perth, 33. 
Salisbury, 86-87. 
Sandquhar, 148. 
Sandringham Palace, 216. 
Sandwich, 300. 
Saracen's Head, Cerrig-y- 

Druidion, 130-132. 
Scarborough, 307. 
Scott, Gilbert, 219. 
Scott, Sir Walter, 47, 142, 

145, 151, 155, 158, 167, 

173-177, 181, 199. 
Selborne, 82. 
Severn, River, 61, 65, 119- 

120. 
Shakespeare, 76-77, 78, 107. 
Shambles, The, York, 205. 
Sherborne, 301. 
Sheridan, 248. 
Shipley, Dr., 85. 
Shipton, Mother, 53-54. 
Shottermill, 275. 
Shrewsbury, 61-63, 65. 
Sidney, Henry, 72. 
Sidney, Sir Philip, 63, 72, 

292, 294. 
Smith, Prof. Goldwin, 3, 

235. 
Snowdon, Mt., 132-133. 
Solway Tide, 143. 
Somersby, 211-214. 
Southampton, 266-267. 
Southey, 168, 304. 
Southwell, 230. 

3 



Staffa, 153. 
Stalybridge, 56. 
Stanley, Dean, 38. 
Sterne, Laurence, 200. 
Stevenson, Robert Louis, 

158. 
Stirling, 170-171. 
Strid, The, 51, 
Stockport, 56. 
Stoke-on-Trent, 49. 
Stoke Poges, 253-254. 
Stokesay, 66-68. 
Stonehaven, 167. 
Stonehenge, 87-88. 
Stonehouse, 96. 
Stoneleigh Abbey, 78. 
Story, 231. 

Stratford-on-Avon, 1-2, 77. 
Sulgrave Manor, 308. 
Swale River, 193, 194. 



Tamworth, 47. 

Tay, Loch, 158. 

Tay, River, 158, 169. 

Taymouth Castle, 158. 

Temple Bar, 21. 

Tennyson, 47, 124, 209-214, 

273, 301. 
Tewkesbury, 301. 
Thackeray, 21-23, 295. 
Thames River, 256. 
Tintagel Castle, 104, 302. 
Tintern, 118-119. 
Toplady, Rev. Augustus, 81. 
Torquay, 92-93. 
Trinity Church, Stratford, 2. 
Trollope, Anthony, 23. 
Trosachs, 151. 
17 



INDEX 



Truro, 98, 104. 

Tunbridge Wells, 286, 294- 

295. 

Tweed River, 175-176. 

Twyford, 85. 

u 

Uriconium, 63. 

V 

Vale Crucis Abbey, 128. 
"Vanity Fair," 22-23. 
Vernon House, Farnham, 82. 
Verulamium, 42. 
Victoria, Queen, 255. 

w 

Waddesdon, 79. 
Wakefield, 55. 
Wallace, 170, 171. 
Walsingham, 218. 
Waltham Abbey, 20-21. 
Walton, Ike, 84. 
Wantage, 259, 262-264. 
Warrington, 13 8-13 9. 
Warwick, 77. 
Washington, George, 308. 
Wedgewood, Josiah, 49. 
Wells, 109-111. 
Welshpool, 127. 
Wesley, John, 282. 
Westerham, 287-288. 
Westminster Abbey, 20, 23, 
155, 224. 



Wharf dale, 51. 
Wharf e River, 51. 
Whitby, 307. 
Whitchurch, 23. 
White, Gilbert, 82. 
Whittington, 264. 
Wigan, 140. 
William the Conqueror, 20, 

63, 278-281, 302, 305. 
William the Lion, 168. 
William of Orange, 93. 
William Rufus, 3 2, 84. 
Winchelsea, 282-283. 
Winchester, 83-85, 266. 
Windsor, 254-255. 
Wishing Wells, 218. 
Wolfe, Gen., 287. 
Wolvesley Palace, 85. 
Woodstock, 262. 
Woolsthorpe, 227. 
Woolwich, 27. 
Worcester, 74-76. 
Wordsworth, 304. 
Wroxeter, 64. 

Wyatt, James, 86, 122-123. 
Wyclif, John, 231-232. 
Wye, River, 122, 125. 
Wyndcliffe, 119. 

Y 

Yarmouth, 307. 
Yeovil, 90. 

York, 191, 197-199, 203- 
205. 



318 



.MfiAp'28 



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